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Macmillan and Co., Ltd. 


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EDWARD G. BROWNE 
IN PERSIAN DRESS 


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A YEAR 


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AMONGST THE PERSIA 
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EDWARD GRANVILLE BROWNE 


With 
A Memoir 
by | 
SIR E. DENISON ROSS 





NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND: AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS 
MCMXXVI 


First published by Messrs 
A. ¢? C. Black Lid 1893 


New edition published by the 
Cambridge University Press 1926 


PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN 


EDWARD G. BROWNE (in Persian dress) 


A MEMOIR 


Chapter 1 


INDEX 


LT 


MAP OF PERSIA 


CONTENTS 


Introductory 


From England to the Persian Frontier 


From the Persian Frontier to Tabriz 


From Tabriz to Teherdn 


Teheran 


Mysticism, Metaphysic, and Magic 


From Teherdn to Isfahan 
Isfahan 

From Isfahan to Shirdz 
Shiraz 

Shirdz (continued) 
From Shirdz to Yexd 
Yexd 

Yexd (continued) 

From Yexd to Kirman 
Kirman Society 
Amongst the Kalandars 
From Kirmdn to England 


Frontispiece 


by SIRE. DENISON ROSS _ page vii — 


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EDWARD GRANVILLE BROWNE 


A MEMOIR 
by 
SIR E, DENISON ROSS 


HAT one of the world’s most fascinating and instructive 

books of travel should have been allowed to remain out of 
print for many years is past comprehension. Yet such has been 
the fate of Edward Browne’s Year Amongst the Persians, which, 
published in 1893, somehow failed to attract the attention it 
deserved. Having by the present re-issue obtained, as it were, 
a new lease of life, it will, we may hope, at last take its rightful 
place among the great Classics of Travel. It is, however, more 
than a mere record of travel, and goes far beyond the ordinary 
limits of such works, for apart from its lively and entrancing 
descriptions of Persia and its people, it is an infallible guide to 
modern Persian literature and thought, and as such should always 
find its place on the student’s shelf beside the author’s monu- 
mental Literary History of Persia. 

The pleasant, if difficult, task has been imposed on me, as 
one who for forty years enjoyed the intimate friendship of the 
author, to prefix to this new issue a short biographical memoir. 
The life of Edward Granville Browne, outside his year in Persia, 
was singularly devoid of adventure, and in the events of that 
yeat his biographer can add nothing to what he has himself 
related so vividly in the present volume. My sole aim, therefore, 
is to give a picture of the manner of man he was; to convey to 
the reader his personality, his charm, his gifts, his prejudices and 
his enthusiasms without attempting a chronological survey of 
his life. Dates and details in no way help us to understand the 
mind of a scholar, in his own day the greatest exponent of 
Persian life and letters. 


Vill A MEMOIR 


Edward Granville Browne was born at Uley, near Dursley 
in Gloucestershire, on 7th February 1862. His father, Sir 
Benjamin C. Browne, for many years the head of R. and W. 
Hawthorn, Leslie and Co., engineers and shipbuilders of New- 
castle-on-Tyne, came originally from Gloucestershire, and his 
mother was a Northumbrian. He was sent to a preparatory 
school, to Glenalmond and to Eton, but nowhere did his 
teachets discover how to make him happy, nor, apparently, how 
happy he might have made them. Like many another man of 
latent gifts, he underwent the discipline of purely wasted years 
undiscovering and undiscovered; but it is perhaps inevitable 
under any system of public schooling that the most impression- 
able period of a boy’s life must be spent in trying to be exactly 
like every other boy; and woe betide the one who cannot 
conform! Of his happy college days, and his simultaneous study 
of Medicine and Oriental Languages he tells us all we need to 
know in the Introduction to the present volume. The turning- 
point in E. G. B.’s career was the Russo-Turkish war of 1877. All 
through his life his sympathies were unfailingly drawn towards 
any nation that was small and oppressed, and when he saw Turkey 
being crushed by the great Russian Tsar, the picture of the gallant 
struggle against defeat made by the losing side and the cant of 
the anti-Turkish party in England made him feel he “would have 
died to save Turkey.” It is important to remember that this 
deep feeling for the Turks was, in this lad of sixteen, totally 
unconnected with any prejudices such as would naturally have 
stirred in him after he had begun to study the languages and 
history of Islamic peoples. It was the misfortunes of a Muham- 
madan power that brought him to the threshold of the treasure- 
house of Oriental lore, of which nature had made him one of 
the rightful inheritors. If he was to serve Turkey in any capacity, 
Turkish must be studied, and, all unknown to himself, with the 
first perusal of Barker’s Turkish Grammar, his career as an 
Orientalist had begun. The youth to whom Latin and Greek 


A MEMOIR 1X 


as taught in our schools had made no appeal whatever, whose 
dormant genius no master had ever suspected, suddenly found 
his own soul, and although fortune decreed that he should 
devote some of his best years to the study of medicine, all his 
spare moments were nevertheless given to acquiring Islamic 
languages. In 1882 he took the Natural Sciences Tripos, and in 
1884 the Indian Languages Tripos. 

In 1882 he had spent the Long Vacation in Constantinople, 
but Persia and not Turkey was destined to be the lodestar of 
his life, and this was no doubt due to the superior attractions of 
Persian literature, especially in the field of Sufi mysticism, which, 
while he was studying medicine, took a very firm hold of his 
imagination; and it now became his chief ambition to visit the 
country that had given birth to Hafiz and to tread “the pure 
Rarth of Shiraz.”? When at last in 1887, thanks to his Pembroke 
Fellowship, he was able to undertake this journey, and entered 
the country of his dreams, he encountered in the Babi movement 
a phase of Persian life which was to occupy his devoted attention 
for many yeats to come. It was no doubt the long and often weary, 
but always instructive, hours he had spent with Mirz4 Muham- 
mad Bakir in Limehouse, that had fitted him to grasp from 
the first the hair-splitting heterodoxies of this sect, which had 
produced so many brave martyrs, and whose sufferings made 
such a ready appeal to his sympathetic mind. His understanding 
of spoken Persian when he first came among the people was 
already of a standard rarely attained by Europeans after years 
of residence, for he was at once able to discuss metaphysics, and 
to grasp the full meaning of quoted verses which were new to 
him. Anyone who has merely read Persian poetry in texts knows 
that this last was no simple achievement; for although modern 
Persian is in many respects an easy language, especially in regard 
to its accidence and the regularity of its verbal forms, it happens 
to be in the matter of vocabulary as difficult as any other lan- 
guage, seeing that it has a claim on any Arabic word whatsoever, 

B b 


x A MEMOIR 


and the very simplicity of its grammatical terminations and Indo- 
Germanic construction make it elusive as a poetical medium. 
E. G. B.’s memory was astonishing, and he not only understood 
what was said to him, but usually remembered conversations 
verbatim. Asa feat of memory alone A Year Amongst the Persians 
always struck me as unique. 

It is a strange fact that a gift for languages in almost all cases 
is a gift for a particular group or type of languages, and it is 
quite conceivable that if E. G. B. had not been accidentally 
attracted to the languages of Islam, he would never have taken 
up linguistic studies at all. I do not think other tongues ever 
came easily to him, for although he readily learnt to read, speak 
and write Arabic, Persian and Turkish, he never acquired the 
same fluency in other languages, and obviously found French 
and German far less easy to speak than those infinitely more 
difficult idioms; but he confesses that he never derived much 
pleasure from Hindustani, which was one of the subjects in his 
Tripos, although it is an Islamic language. Certain people are 
only able to pick up quickly certain languages, but it is further 
a fact that they have particular gifts in respect of those languages. 
E. G. B. had no ear for music, and he did not pronounce imi- 
tatively even those languages he knew best. But he spoke them 
with the same fluency that characterised his English talk. He was 
not really interested in languages as such; neither Semitic nor 
Iranian philology made any appeal to him, although at one period 
he developed a keen interest in the earliest examples of modern 
Persian and its dialects, as witness his articles in the Journal of 
the Royal Asiatic Society, 1894, 1895 and 1897. 


INTELLECTUAL LIFE 


I think that the intellectual life of this scholar may best be 
depicted by an enumeration of the special phases of enthusiasm 
through which he passed. They almost admit of chronological 
attangement, though they do not coincide exactly with the list 


A MEMOIR x1 


of his various writings as they appeared, Relying on personal 
memories and reminiscences I should set them out as follows: 

(1) The Islamic languages, with special regard for Persian 
poetry, 1879. 

(2) Persian Suffism, especially the Masnavi of Jalalu’d-Din 
Rumi, 1880-1887. 

(3) The Babis, his interest being first aroused by reading Count 
Gobineau’s Re/igions et Philosophies dans 2 Asie Centrale, a work 
for which he had the profoundest admiration, and secondly 
by meeting and receiving the confidences of many Babis in Persia 
(see pp. 223 sgq.), which led him to devote precious years to 
the study of a subject which was not perhaps wholly worthy of 
so much strenuous labour, especially in view of the later develop- 
ment of Beha’ism and the resultant obscuring of the Bab, 1890. 

(4) The history of Persian literature, in which subject he laid 
the foundation of his later work by a careful study of the Bio- 
graphical Anthologies known as tadbkiras, 1895. 

(5) When he first set about his great work on the Literary 
History of Persia he became much engrossed by the story of the 
deciphering of the cuneiform Persian and of Pahlavi and by the 
great controversy between Sir William Jones and Anquetil du 
Perron, 1900. 

(6) With the second volume he became especially interested 
in the Shahndma of Firdawsi, and at this time began to appreciate 
fully the great pioneer work of Theodor Néldeke. 

(7) Volume HI brought him for the first time into close touch 
with the history of the Mongols, and led him to suggest to the 
Gibb Trustees the publication of the two greatest works dealing 
with this subject, namely the Jahdn-gushd of Juwayni and the 
Jdmi‘w-t-Tawarikh of Rashidu’d-Din. In this connection may be 
mentioned the deep interest he took, as early as 1880, in the 
Isma‘ilis of Persia and in the literature of the Hurifis. 

(8) The next phase was the deep concern he showed in 
the Persian revolution and the controversial and tendentious 

b2 


Xi A MEMOIR 


literature to which it gave bitth, 1909-1914. From 1905, when the 
revolutionary movement began in Persia, E. G. B. devoted much 
_of his time to the cause of Persia. He was instrumental in forming 
the Persia Committee, composed of prominent members of the 
Upper and Lower Houses of Parliament, which from 1908 to 
1912 exercised considerable influence on public opinion both in 
England and in Europe. In 1909 he published a Short Account 
of Recent Events in Persia, and in 1910 a History of the Persian 
Revolution 1905-1909, and in 1914, The Press and Poetry of Modern 
Persia, all with the object of explaining to the West that a new 
spirit of sound nationalism had been born in the country. 

(9) With his preparations for the fourth volume he became 
entirely engrossed in the rise of the Safavis, especially in the 
founder of the dynasty and in the revival of Shi‘ism, 1918-20. 

(10) Arabic Medicine. In 1919 he was invited to deliver a 
course of four FitzPatrick lectures at the College of Physicians 
on Arabic Medicine, which appeared in book form in 1921. This 
was the first occasion he had of utilising his combined knowledge 
of Arabic and of Medicine on an extended scale, although his 
medical studies had already stood him in good stead in other 
of his writings, notably in connection with his translation ‘of 
the Chahdr Magdla, which has a chapter devoted to Doctots. 

(11) Lowards the end of his life, when he had seen the fourth 
volume through the press (1924), he devoted most of his time 
to making a catalogue of the many valuable manuscripts he had 
collected, especially in the last decade, by the purchase of the 
collections of General Houtum-Schindler and of Haji ‘Abdu’l- 
Majid Belshah. 

Apart from his purely literary activities he devoted much 
time to the promotion of Oriental studies in the University, 
and was mainly responsible for the creation of a School of Living 
Oriental Languages in Cambridge in connection with the Sudan 
Political Service and the Consular Department of the Foreign 
Office. Mention must also be made of his practical efforts in the 


A MEMOIR xii 


production of reliable and inexpensive editions of Arabic and 
Persian texts, towatds which he contributed out of his own 
resources. 

In between these enthusiasms which occupied his houts of 
quiet work—and it was always a marvel how those hours were 
extracted from the twenty-four, seeing that he never grudged 
giving his best to all who came to his rooms, or later on to his 
house—he devoted much time to the management of the affairs 
of the E. J. W. Gibb Trust. Among the earliest friends with 
whom he was brought into contact by his Turkish studies, was 
E. J. W. Gibb, who devoted the whole of his life to the study of 
Ottoman poetry. When in 1901 Gibb died, only one volume of 
his monumental Hzstory of Ottoman Poetry had appeared, although 
the rest of the work was nearly complete. As a labour of love 
E. G. B. took upon himself the most onerous task of seeing the 
whole work through the press, and completing the unfinished 
portions; and this involved an immense amount of patient re- 
search, seeing that every quotation had to be verified, and that 
the Turkish originals of the many poems translated in the body 
of this work had to be traced to their sources, often in rare manu- 
sctipts, and copied for the printer. It would be hard to over- 
estimate the unselfish devotion to which this undertaking bore 
witness. But his tribute of esteem to the great Turkish scholar 
did not end here. In order to perpetuate the memory of E. J. W. 
Gibb, Mrs Jane Gibb, his mother, left a sum of money yielding a 
considerable yearly interest to be controlled by a body of trustees 
and to be employed in the publication of texts and translations 
of Turkish, Persian and Arabic books, and it fell to the lot of 
RK, G. B. to carry into effect this laudable bequest. In 1904 he 
established, with five other scholars and the widow of the Turkish 
scholar, the “E. J. W. Gibb Memorial,” which has since that 
time published more than forty volumes of texts and transla- 
tions; and it was E. G. B. who, up to the time of his death, was 
the moving spirit of the Trust, which has conferred on scholars 


xiv A MEMOIR 


and students the inestimable boon of rendering accessible im- 
portant and rare works, and this at a reasonable cost. 

He placed the University of Cambridge under deep obligation 
by his long and wearisome work on the Muhammadan manu- 
scripts both in the University and in the libraries of various 
colleges. Only those who have been engaged on work of this 
kind can appreciate the dullness of examining, paging, and 
describing large numbers of manuscripts, of which the majority 
ate apt to be well-known works, which, while profiting nothing 
to the cataloguer, need the same care as the rarer works which 
turn up as the occasional reward for his labours. 


POLITICA Led TEE 


No portrait of E. G. B. would be either faithful or complete 
which did not emphasise his deep interest in current politics. 
It was in itself a rare thing for a scholar so pre-eminent and 
productive in his own special line to take so keen and active an 
interest in the politics of the day; but never did the divine fire 
of his eloquence shine forth with greater brilliance than when he 
was exposing what to him appeared a political injustice or abuse. 
He was as fearless in expressing his views as he was independent 
in forming them, and if in many cases—nay, in most—his opinions 
were not in accord with those of the average Englishman, they 
have often been justified by subsequent history, and it would be 
unfair if some allusion to them did not find a place in the present 
Memoit. We have already seen how his sympathy was aroused 
for the Turks; other questions which stirred him deeply were: 
Russia, Home Rule, the encouragement of the Welsh language, 
and the independence of the Boers. He was always a severe 
critic of our Persian policy, which he felt was guided by a fear 
of Russia, and the agreement England made with the latter power 
in 1907 incensed him beyond measure, and led him to protest 
with all his strength, but in vain. That such a man should not 
be altogether a persona grata to the Foreign Office is not per- 


A MEMOIR XV 


haps to be wondered at; but this circumstance is much to be 
deplored seeing that there was no one in England who could 
have given the authorities better information regarding the state 
of Persia. In August 1914 he was opposed to the entry of 
England into the Great War, and was one of the signatories of 
the manifesto drawn up by members of the Universities of Oxford 
and Cambridge. His views on the subject underwent an im- 
mediate change with the invasion of Belgtum by the Germans, 
and although the war filled him with such horror that he could 
hardly bring himself to open a newspaper, no one entered more 
thoroughly than he into the work of the local war organisations 
in Cambridge. Finally, he was one of the first Englishmen to 
get into touch with German scholars as soon as peace was 
declared, being prepared to wipe out all bad memories in the 
name of Science. When, in 1921, the Council of the Royal Asiatic 
Society was making arrangements for the celebration of its 
Centenary, E. G. B. was one of the minority who voted in favour 
of inviting the Germans to participate in the proceedings; and 
when the proposal was vetoed, he came very near to resigning 
from the Society. 

He was perfectly fearless in all he wrote and all he said, and 
his views, if idealistic and often premature, were always based 
on love of justice. No consideration of expedience could move 
him from his convictions; for him there was no such thing as 
compromise, and this gentle scholar, who was so apt to tolerate 
all shortcomings in his fellow-men, was in politics intransigent 
and unforgiving—and usually on the losing side. 


SOCIAL LIFE 


E. G. B.’s social life falls into two distinct epochs: the life 
of the Pembroke Don, and the life of the married man at Firwood. 
No one who was ever privileged to enjoy them can forget those 
wonderful evenings and nights spent in his College rooms, which 
had once been occupied by the younger Pitt. Apart from the 


Xvi A MEMOIR 


matvellous entertainment which every kind of visitor enjoyed 
in these rooms, the high table at Pembroke provided in those 
yeats, especially from 1890 to 1900, some of the best talk and 
company to be found in Cambridge. Some names occur to one, 
as those of Neil, Heriz Smith, and Moriarty, to mention only 
those who ate no longer among the living. It would be hard 
to imagine a more delightful evening than one which began in 
the Combination Room and ended at any o’clock in E. G. B.’s 
rooms. E. G. B.’s hospitality had one characteristic which 
must have struck all those who had the privilege of enjoying 
it, namely, that it made no distinction of persons. Just as all 
wete welcome, so were all worth entertaining. In E. G. B.’s 
tooms, as afterwards in Firwood, no one was ever regarded as 
a Sar-i-khar, or donkey’s head (see this volume, p. 300). He 
would always give of his best and most brilliant, no matter who 
composed his audience; the colleague, the professor, the graduate 
and the freshman were all regaled with the same feast of talk; 
for E. G. B. was rather a talker than a conversationalist, and no 
one who listened to him could possibly have wished it otherwise. 
His fund of anecdote was inexhaustible, and yet one cannot 
remember ever having heard him merely help a current story on 
its rounds. His tales were drawn either from Oriental literature 
ot from the adventures of himself or his friends, to which he had 
the gift of lending a peculiar charm which made even one’s own 
adventures, should one happen to be the protagonist, seem new, 
and he would remember sayings verbatim that the speaker had 
forgotten as soon as uttered. And of what did he talk? And who 
shall attempt to describe the manner of his discourse? One can 
recall a hundred topics which sometimes kept his hearers en- 
thralled for a whole evening: such as, the visit of an Oriental; 
the Irish question; the iniquities of Tsarist Russia; Stephen Lea- 
cock’s latest nonsense; Wilfrid Blunt; or the beauties of Oriental 
poetry, in describing which he would not only quote the original 
Arabic or Persian without hesitation, but would follow this with 


A MEMOIR XVil 


a fluent literal rendering in which not a point would be missed. 
He had a wonderful gift of rendering such poetry into English 
vetse and one can only regret that he did not leave behind him 
more of such renderings. I am not aware that he ever attempted 
to write original verse, except in dedicating books to his mother 
ot to his wife, but his translations go to show that he had in him 
the true poetic feeling. Excepting only his love of Persian car- 
pets, he had no teal interest in the fine arts; I do not think he 
cared any more for Persian miniatures, apart from their subject- 
matter, than he did for a language, apart from the thoughts it 
conveyed. I never heard him discuss either Religion or Art. He 
took no interest in society outside that of Cambridge; London 
only existed for him as containing the British Museum and a 
few book-shops, though he did like a good full-blooded melo- 
drama. He cared little what he ate, and had no taste for wines; 
the only repast I ever knew him to enjoy was his tea at midnight 
which he brewed himself; he made it very strong, and generally 
allowed it to get cold, but its preparation on a spirit-lamp played 
almost the part of a religious ceremony in his life, which might 
never be omitted. He loved cigarettes and smoked them in- 
cessantly, but he never took either to cigars or a pipe, except 
the hubble-bubble on his first return from the East. He began 
fly-fishing rather late in life, but in the end preferred it to all 
other recreations in his summer holidays. While at Pembroke 
he rowed and had a place in his College boat; he also played 
tennis and squash racquets, but on the whole he was not a lover 
of games. 

In later life he became a rich man, and was thus freed from all 
financial anxiety, permitted to practise his natural generosity 
and enabled to buy all the books he needed; and never was 
an assured competency better bestowed by Fortune. For his 
liberality knew no bounds, and the number of Orientals alone 
who, deserving or undeserving, were the recipients of his charity 
is hard to estimate. But his kindness never seemed to lie so much 


XVilt A MEMOIR 


in the tangible results as in the infinite trouble he took to help 
all who came to him. 

His married life was of the happiest, and in Alice Blackburne- 
Daniell he found an utterly devoted wife, a wonderful mother 
of his two sons, and a help-meet fitted by intellectual gifts to 
appreciate his talents and to encourage him in his scholarly 
labours; and the hospitality of Firewood Library quickly made up 
for the desertion of the Pembroke rooms. Mrs Browne was 
indeed the ideal wife for such a man, and during their nineteen 
yeats of undisturbed happiness she devoted to him all her 
thoughts and all her strength. In November 1924 he was 
suddenly stricken with a severe heart attack, which brought his 
activities to an end. For eight long months every effort was 
made to restore his strength, but when, in June 1925, his wife, 
wotn out with the constant anxiety, suddenly collapsed and died, 
there was no one who could take her place, and he never rallied 
from the blow. He only survived his wife’s death by six months, 
during which time, by a tremendous effort of will, he answered 
in his own hand all the letters of condolence he had received, 
numbering over 300 in all, but his life’s work was finished. 

He was a most punctilious correspondent and wrote letters 
with the same ease in Arabic, Persian or Turkish as he did in 
English, and his correspondence in all these languages was 
voluminous. Both in English and in Arabic he had a wonder- 
fully neat writing, and his own books and manuscripts were 
always annotated with the greatest care and legibility. 

What has been said regarding his correspondence and his 
hospitality is merely an indication of his great natural generosity 
in the matter of time, which is the commodity which scholars 
ate apt most to grudge. But with time he was a magician, for 
he always seemed to find it for his own work, no matter what 
the distractions of the day and night might have been. I can only 
say from personal experience that in the many weeks and days 
I have spent with him, I hardly ever remember to have caught 


A MEMOIR X1x 


him at work. Occasionally he would write a note or two in one’s 
presence, but otherwise all his time seemed to be at the disposal 
of his visitors. How remarkable this is when one considers 
the dimensions of his literary output, including as it did much 
reading of Oriental proofs, an occupation demanding the utmost 
care, and considerable strain to the eyes on account of the dia- 
critical points of the Arabic alphabet. 

It is not my purpose here to describe his numerous works, 
or even to provide a list of them; for this I would refer the 
reader to Professor R. A. Nicholson’s Introduction to the 
forthcoming Catalogue of E. G. B.’s manuscripts. 

He was held in the deepest esteem and affection by the Per- 
sians, and I cannot support this statement better than by quoting 
from an article in French which appeared in a Teheran newspaper, 
Mthan, 6th of Rajab, A.H. 1334: 


“Je dois maintenant vous exposer, en grandes lignes, les services qu’il 
a rendus a la Perse. Ces services peuvent se diviser en deux catégories: 


(1) Services rendus a la littérature persane. 
(2) Services rendus a la cause nationale persane. 


“Tl n’y a personne dans notre histoire dont les services rendus 4 la lit- 
térature persane puissent étre comparés a ceux de Browne exceptés ceux 
rendus par les grands rois tels que Mahmoud Ghaznavi le Patron de Ferdowsi 
et Sandjar Seldjoukide, le Protecteur de Anwari. Et tandis qu’eux travaillaient 
dans lintérét de leur propre pays Browne faisait tout pour la renaissance et 
la propagation d’une langue qui n’était pas la sienne. 

“Passons maintenant aux services qu’il a tendus a la cause nationale 
persane. 

“Déja en 1887 quand Browne écrivait son ouvrage intitulé ‘Un an au milieu 
des Persans’ ot il racontait son voyage en Perse, il plaignait le peuple persan 
(avoir un gouvernement corrompu 4 sa téte. A partir de 1906 ot la Révolu- 
tion s’est déclarée en Perse, notre Regretté Ami a consacré une grande partie 
de son temps a défendre notre cause.... . 

“En parlant des services que notre regretté Ami a rendus a la cause 
nationale persane je n’ai pas voulu parler des aides matérielles et morales 
qwil a apportées aux réfugiés persans, victimes de la tyrannie étrangére, qui 
avaient pris le chemin de Europe pour échapper au sort funeste qui les 
attendait dans leur patrie méme. Le chateau de Firwood prés de Cambridge 
ou vivait Browne était un asile pour tous les Persans qui se rendaient en 
Angleterre, et Phospitalité qu’il réservait 4 nos compatriotes était sans limites 


XX A MEMOIR 


et sans bornes. Les Persans qui s’y rendaient se croyaient chez eux, dans leur 
propre pays, tant par la fagon dont étaient [était] aménagé le chateau que 
pat l’accueil chaleureux dont ils étaient Pobjet. 

“Aprés ce court exposé vous voyez, Messieurs, quels motifs nous ont 
poussés 4 organiser cette réunion commémorative. Dans la personne de 
Browne nous avons perdu un grand Ami qui a consacré tout son étre pour 
nous faite connaitre au monde. Cette grande 4me généreuse n’avait pas 
seulement de la sympathie et de admiration pour notre pays mais de amour, 
de amour pur, profond et désintéressé que l’on voit dans toutes ses ceuvres 
et dans chacune des lignes qu’il a écrites. 

“Nous avons envers lui une grande dette de gratitude qui ne pourra étre 
acquittée que par les générations a venir. Browne vivra toujours dans nos 
coeuts et la Perse gardera de lui le souvenir ineffacable, le souvenir précieux 
et cher d’un grand et noble Ami qui a tout fait pour réduire ses souffrances 
et la faire aimer.”’ 


The tributes paid to him after his death, both in the public 
press and in private letters, all testify as much to his personal 
qualities as to his profound learning. On the Continent and in 
America he was regarded as the greatest authority on Persia, 
and he was universally recognised as one of the foremost 
Orientalists of his day. In 1921, on the occasion of his fifty- 
ninth birthday, he received a complimentary address, accom- 
panied by beautiful presents, signed by a number of representa- 
tive Persians, expressing their appreciation of the services he 
had tendered to their language and literature. In 1922, on his 
sixtieth birthday, he received, in addition to letters and addresses 
from Europe and Petsia, a volume of Oriental studies, to which 
scholars of every country had contributed articles. He never 
sought for honours and did not care to take a Doctor’s degree 
at Cambridge, which he could have done any time, but it is 
rematkable that he received so little public recognition from 
learned Societies abroad. From the Shah of Persia he received 
the order of the Lion and the Sun, he was in 1922 elected a 
Vice-President of the Royal Asiatic Society, in 1903 a Fellow 
of the British Academy, and in 1911 a Fellow of the Royal 
College of Physicians. Had he wished he might have been 
Master of Pembroke, but he disliked administrative work and 


A MEMOIR Xxi 


obeyed grudgingly the calls which various University meetings 
wete wont to make on his time. 

In reading this great book of travel, in which the discoveries 
ate confined to the soul of the people, one cannot fail to be struck 
by the great toleration the author shows towards the weaknesses 
of the Persians. The fact that one of his hosts had become the 
terror of those he governed and was guilty of a thousand unjust 
executions and judgments, does not in any way lower E. G. B.’s 
admiration of his gracious manners or his fine library. He so 
loved his Persians that he forgave everything, and only stayed 
to ptaise and admire. 

He had a certain dislike of things Indian, due perhaps to a 
difference between the Indian and the Persian spirit, and rein- 
forced by a grudge which he bore Indian Muslims because they 
pronounced Persian unlike the Persians themselves. Another 
element in this was his disapproval of Anglo-Indian officials, 
who were his constant bugbear. His anti-Indian prejudices 
extended even to Indo-Persian poets, that is, the Persian poets 
like Amir Khusraw and $4a’ib who settled in India, although quite 
Tate in life, while he was writing the fourth volume of his great 
Literary History, he was at length compelled to recognise their 
merits and make the amende honorable. His feelings towards Indian 
Muslims also underwent a complete change partly on account 
of the favourable impression created by some young Indian 
students who came to study Islamic literature under him in 
Cambridge during the last six years of his life, and partly owing 
to his great admiration for the writings of Maulavi Shibli 
Nu‘mani of Aligarh. 

That Edward Browne was a genius no man could deny, and 
his genius was of two distinct kinds; he not only fulfilled the 
‘condition of possessing the capacity for taking infinite pains, 
but also had the genius which reveals itself in the inspiration of 
the spoken word. For it was in his talk and conversation that 
the scholar, the wit, the enthusiast and the man of heart were 


XX A MEMOIR 


revealed in full bloom, beside which his writings, with all their 
brilliance, are but so many pressed flowers. 

To write dispassionately of so dear a friend has been no easy 
task, but my aim was to represent this great scholar in the light 
of common day, so that some lasting memorial should remain 
of his intellectual progress and his mental outlook, of his stead- 
fast ideals, his simplicity of character and his untiring devotion 

to the cause of sound scholarship. 
RK. DENISON ROSS 


a 


EXORDIUM 


(DEDICATED TO THE PERSIAN READER ONLY) 
In the name of God, the Merciful, the Forgwing 


Praise be to Gov, the Maker of Land and Sea, the Lord of “““ BE,’ and it 
shall be”:* Who brought me forth from the place of my birth, obedient to His 
saying, “ Journey through the Earth”:* Who guarded me from the dangers of the 
way with the shield of “No fear shall be upon them and no dismay”:3 Who 
caused me to accomplish my quest and thereafter to return and rest, after I had 
beheld the wonders of the East and of the West! 

Burt Arrerwarvs. Thus saith the humblest and unworthiest of His servants, 
who least deserveth His Bounty, and most needeth His Clemency (may God forgive 
his failing and heal his ailing!): When from Kirmdn. and the confines of Bam I 
had returned again to the city on the Cam, and ceased for a while to wander, and 
began to muse and ponder on the lands where I had been and the marvels I had 
therein seen, and how in pursuit of knowledge I had forgone the calm seclusion 
of college, and through days warm and weary, and nights dark and dreary, now 
hungry and now athirst I had tasted of the best and of the worst, experiencing hot 
and cold, and holding converse with young and old, and had climbed the mountain 
and crossed the waste now slowly and now with haste, until I had made an end 
of toil, and set my foot upon my native soil; then, wishful to impart the gain which 
I had won with labour and harvested with pain (for “Travel is travail” 4 say the 
Sages), I resolved to write these pages, and, taking ink and pen, to impart to 
my fellow-men what I had witnessed and understood of things evil and good. 

Now seeing that to fail and fall is the fate of all, and to claim exemption 
from the lot of humanity a proof of pride and vanity, and somewhat of mercy 
our common need; therefore let such as read, and errors detect, either ignore and 
neglect, or correct and conceal them rather than revile and reveal them. For he 
as lenient who is wise, and from his brother's failings averts his eyes, being loth 
to hurt or harm, nay, meeting bane with balm. Wa’s-SALAM. 

Te atelier ye ili. 2. Ct, SeUs ate Vine 1s XX Vile 7 19,ECC: 

3 Kur’an, ul, 36, 59, 106, etc. 

4 So Burton has well translated the Arabic proverb: “ Es-seferu kit‘at™ 
mina s-sakar.” (‘Travel is ‘a portion of hell-fire.”’) 




























ol Se ar 


red = 
seks, i ta le, 
bee a' ea! 4, 


Kade 7 tak alg a a or 
ae ao Hee Mes . i iin By. Hike 2 oo ‘aus ve Nain: was 


bs hag Be 


te ers 4545 is 2A: 





; ons “'\- re : cin 
Fete. Pez aaah: bay 





m4 % Lt ~ ay . ioe 
. 4 a LS ee Re aks ¥i ¢ » wah ‘ ‘ 
s ints 3 1 ee ioe ates us ay a SS ren a < oe * Narre: fae ; ; 
4 ' < . +575. i ~ a 7 J Sea 


we 
sais * Giga te 
" cs ao cae er 


ct oe? te ; ‘ 
“ay aha ; “ta tis tent alae. \ With at. cee 





“are Lat ame LIBY KAS J Ao aba Sana 


; ae , ; - . / Pore ah Se ty aie if $e +d baiy ena pay, Weert x ote ~ ae rine ner 





‘ , ; “Kis, ie a SSE saya a it Gs ty % % oe ty i? Wavy Laas of eV we: ge wrens pcre uel he 
hs #03 a ae ae eve aia “ aa & hs clipe a 









} Sry ” ay an ake istaas $k agit wae x sos x 











Pi. WR Tie, oe ye Ah Se ate mtg sat un pe). RK tii: Ti 
eg Seyi : EN Sai ¥ ys ty oe ie ee fi cone See fe tah Mats aes “AS 
| gern eon, (2 sa ‘ak hss i irre la os % ee a a net jag beak Ndi ? wi ee ‘OHS po 
ee NR, PC NITRA SRE HAGE es as pee Pevt ne ‘as Ans: 2 
core = . My a Pen Sie 4 oh Ses eth ie Ray ie tink fei. + Senin ya aa oe wa 
} . bot be “any iene > hen ore : me «tae it ps a: 
; HAE 


Sihen pees Neate a ig . iio ae ora 


0 rae 


ie os MER oK. teeny: Lae as 


. * ean 


cathe 3 roe pert Agony: Be. aS ae Se 










Ate 4 ie Een, ay te ees 

ages eee 2) tetas wal th ae 

Papa serge Fp Si Revs e : 

ate - gah Veale “ect, ea ws este "€ oa bi ced G5: 

My : uals tity ; a aia st tg net rg ce. le 
a? te ’ y 
, P 4 


aL! BSN ee 
\ {i 


tat “Seale ee 





CHAPTER I 


INTRODUCTORY 


“ EL“alau ‘ilman: ‘ilmwl-adydn, wa “ilmu’l-abdan.” 
“Science is twofold: Theology, and Medicine.” 


HAVE so often been asked how I first came to occupy 
myself with the study of Eastern languages that I have 
decided to devote the opening chapter of this book to answering 
this question, and to describing as succinctly as possible the pro- 
cess by which, not without difficulty and occasional discourage- 
ment, I succeeded, ere ever I set foot in Persia, in obtaining a 
sufficient mastery overt the Persian tongue to enable me to employ 
it with some facility as an instrument of conversation, and to 
explore with pleasure and profit the enchanted realms of its vast 
and varied literature. I have not arrived at this decision without 
some hesitation and misgiving, for I do not wish to obtrude 
myself unnecessarily on the attention of my readers, and one can 
hardly be autobiographical without running the risk of being 
egotistical. But then the same thing applies with equal force to 
all descriptions intended for publication of any part of one’s 
personal experiences—such, for instance, as one’s own travels. 
Believing that the observations, impressions, and experiences of 
my twelve months’ sojourn in Persia during the years 1887-8 
may be of interest to others besides myself, I have at length 
determined to publish them. It is too late now to turn squeamish 
about the use of the pronoun of the first person. I will be as 
sparing of its use as I can, but use it I must. 
I might, indeed, have given to this book the form of a syste- 
matic treatise on Persia, a plan which for some time I did actually 


B I 


2 INTRODUCTORY 


entertain; but against this plan three reasons finally decided me. 
Firstly, that my publishers expressed a preference for the narrative 
form, which, they believed, would render the book more read- 
able. Secondly, that for the more ambitious project of writing a 
systematic treatise I did not feel myself prepared and could not 
prepare myself without the expenditure of time only to be 
obtained by the sacrifice of other work which seemed to me of 
greater importance. Third/y, that the recent publication of the 
Hon. G. N. Curzon’s encyclopedic work on Persia will for some 
time to come prevent any similar attempt on the part of anyone 
else who is not either remarkably rash or exceedingly well- 
informed. Moreover, the question “What first made you take 
up Persian?” when addressed to an Englishman who is neither 
engaged in, nor destined for, an Eastern career deserves an answer. 
In France, Germany, or Russia such a question would hardly be 
asked; but in England a knowledge of Eastern languages is no 
stepping-stone to diplomatic employment in Eastern countries; 
and though there exist in the Universities and the British Museum 
posts more desirable than this to the student of Oriental languages, 
such posts are few, and, when vacant, hotly competed for. In 
spite of every discouragement, there ate, I rejoice to say, almost 
every year a few young Englishmen who, actuated solely by 
love of knowledge and desire to extend the frontiers of science 
in a domain which still contains vast tracts of unexplored 
country, devote themselves to this study. To them too often 
have I had to repeat the words of warning given to me by my 
honoured friend and teacher, the late Dr William Wright, an 
Arabic scholar whom not Cambridge or England only, but 
Europe, mourns with heart-felt sorrow and remembers with 
legitimate pride. It was in the year 1884, so far as I remember; 
I was leaving Cambridge with mingled feelings of sorrow and of 
hope: sorrow, because I was to bid farewell (for ever, as I then 
expected) to the University and the College to which I owe a 
debt of gratitude beyond the power of words to describe; hope, 


INTRODUCTORY 3 


because the honours I had just gained in the Indian Languages 
Tripos made me sanguine of obtaining some employment which 
would enable me to pursue with advantage and success a study 
to which I was devotedly attached, and which even medicine 
(for which I was then destined), with all its charms and far- 
reaching interests, could not rival in my affections. This hope, in 
answer to an enquiry as to what I intended to do on leaving 
Cambridge, I one day confided to Dr Wright. No one, as I well 
knew, could better sympathise with it or gauge its chances of 
fulfilment, and from no one could I look for kinder, wiser, and 
more prudent counsel. And this was the advice he gave me— 
“Tf,” said he, “you have private means which render you inde- 
pendent of a profession, then pursue your Oriental studies, and 
fear not that they will disappoint you, or fail to return you a rich 
reward of happiness and honour. But if you cannot afford to do 
this, and are obliged to consider how you may earn a livelihood, 
then devote yourself wholly to medicine, and abandon, save as 
a telaxation for your leisure moments, the pursuit of Oriental 
letters. The posts for which such knowledge will fit you are few, 
and, for the most part, poorly endowed, neither can you hope to 
obtain them till you have worked and waited for many years. 
And from the Government you must look for nothing, for it has 
long shown, and still continues to show, an increasing indis- 
position to offer the slightest encouragement to the study of 
Eastern languages.” 

A tare piece of good fortune has in my case falsified a pre- 
diction of which Dr Wright himself, though I knew it not till 
long afterwards, did all in his power to avert the accomplish- 
ment; but in general it still holds true, and I write these words, 
not for myself, but for those young English Orientalists whose 
disappointments, struggles, and unfulfilled, though legitimate, 
hopes I have so often been compelled to watch with keen but 
impotent sorrow and sympathy. Often I reflect with bitterness 
that England, though mote directly interested in the East than 


I-2 


4 INTRODUCTORY 


any other European countty save Russia, not only offers less 
encouragement to her sons to engage in the study of Oriental 
languages than any other great European nation, but can find 
no employment even for those few who, notwithstanding every 
discouragement, ate impelled by their own inclination to this 
study, and who, by diligence, zeal, and natural aptitude, attain 
proficiency therein. How different is it in France! There, not 
to mention the more academic and purely scientific courses of 
lectures on Hebrew, Syriac, Arabic, Zend, Pahlavi, Persian, 
Sanskrit, and on Egyptian, Assyrian, and Semitic archeology 
and philology, delivered regularly by savants of European repu- 
tation at the Collége de France and the Sorbonne (all of which 
lectures are freely open to persons of either sex and any nation- 
ality), there is a special school of Oriental languages (now within 
a yeat or two of its centenary) where practical instruction of the 
best imaginable kind is given (also gratuitously) by European 
professors, assisted in most cases by native répétiteurs, in literary 
and colloquial Arabic, Persian, Turkish, Malay, Javanese, Ar- 
menian, Modern Greek, Chinese, Japanese, Annamite, Hindu- 
stani, Tamil, Russian, and Roumanian, as well as in the geography, 
history, and jurisprudence of the states of the extreme East. 
To these lectures (the best, I repeat, without fear of contradiction, 
which can be imagined) any student, French or foreign, is admitted 
free of charge. And any student who has followed them diligently 
for three yeats, and passed the periodical examinations to the 
satisfaction of his teachers, provided that he be a French subject, 
may confidently reckon on receiving sooner or later from the 
Government such employment as his tastes, training, and attain- 
ments have fitted him for. The manifold advantages of this 
admirable system, alike to the State and the individual, must be 
obvious to the most obtuse, and need no demonstration. All 
honout to France for the signal services which she has rendered 
to the cause of learning! May she long maintain that position of 
eminence in science which she has so nobly won, and which she 


INTRODUCTORY 5 


so desetvedly occupies! And to us English, too, may she become, 
in this respect at least, an exemplar and a pattern! 

Now, having unburdened my mind on this matter, I will 
recount briefly how I came to devote myself to the study of 
Oriental languages. I was originally destined to become an 
engineer; and therefore, partly because—at any tate sixteen 
years ago—the teaching of the “modern side” was still in a 
most rudimentary state, partly because I most eagerly desired 
emancipation from a life entirely uncongenial to me, I left school 
at the age of fifteen and a half, with little knowledge and less love 
of Latin and Greek. I have since then learned better to appreciate 
the value of these languages, and to regret the slenderness of my 
classical attainments. Yet the method according to which they 
ate generally taught in English public schools is so unattractive, 
and, in my opinion, so inefficient, that had I been subjected to it 
much longer I should probably have come to loathe all foreign 
languages, and to shudder at the very sight of a grammar. It is 
a good thing for the student of a language to study its grammar 
when he has learned to read and understand it, just as it is a good 
thing for an artist to study the anatomy of the human body when 
he has learned to sketch a figure or catch the expression of a face; 
but for one to seek to obtain mastery over a language by learning 
tules of accidence and syntax is as though he should regard the 
dissecting-room as the single and sufficient portal of entrance to 
the Academy. How little a knowledge of grammar has to do 
with facility in the use of language is shown by the fact that 
comparatively few have studied the grammar of that language 
over which they have the greatest mastery, while amongst all 
the Latin and Greek scholars in this country those who could 
make an extempote speech, dash off an impromptu note, or carry 
on a sustained conversation in either language, are in a small 
minority. 

Then, amongst other evil things connected with it, is the 
magnificent contempt for all non-English systems of pronuncia- 


6 INTRODUCTORY 


tion which the ordinary public-school system of teaching Latin 
and Greek encourages. Granted that the pronunciation of Greek 
is vety different in the Athens of to-day from what it was in the 
time of Plato or Euripides, and that Cicero would not under- 
stand, ot would understand with difficulty, the Latin of the 
Vatican, does it follow that both languages should be pronounced 
exactly like English, of all spoken tongues the most anomalous 
in pronunciation? What should we think of a Chinaman who, 
because he was convinced that the pronunciation of English in 
the fourteenth century differed widely from that of the nineteenth, 
deliberately elected to read Chaucer with the accent and intona- 
tion of Chinese? If Latin and Greek alone were concerned it 
would not so much matter, but the influence of this doctrine of 
pan-Anglican pronunciation too often extends to French and 
German as well. The spirit engendered by it is finely displayed 
in these two sayings which I remember to have heard repeated— 
“Anyone can understand English if they choose, provided you 
talk loud enough.” “Always mistrust an Englishman who talks 
French like a Frenchman.” 

Apart from the general failure to invest the books read with 
any human, historical, or literary interest, or to treat them as 
expressions of the thoughts, feelings, and aspirations of our 
fellow-creatures instead of as grammatical tread-mills, there is 
another reason why the public-school system of teaching languages 
commonly fails to impart much useful knowledge of them. When 
any intelligent being who is a free agent wishes to obtain an 
efiicient knowledge of a foreign language as quickly as possible, 
how does he proceed? He begins with an easy text, and first 
obtains the general sense of each sentence and the meaning of 
each particular word from his teacher. In default of a teacher, 
he falls back on the best available substitute, namely, a good 
translation and a dictionary. Looking out words in a dictionary 
is, however, mere waste of time, if their meaning can be ascer- 
tained in any other way; so that he will use this means only when 


INTRODUCTORY , 


compelled to do so. Having ascertained the meaning of each 
wotd, he will note it down either in the margin of the book or 
elsewhere, so that he may not have to ask it or look it out again. 
Then he will read the passage which he has thus studied over 
and over again, if possible aloud, so that tongue, ear, and mind 
may be simultaneously familiarised with the new instrument of 
thought and communication of which he desires to possess him- 
self, until he perfectly understands the meaning without mentally 
translating it into English, and until the foreign words, no 
longer strange, evoke in his mind, not their English equivalents, 
but the ideas which they connote. This is the proper way to 
learn a language, and it is opposed at almost every point to the 
public-school method, which regards the use of “cribs” as a 
deadly sin, and substitutes parsing and consttuing for reading 
and understanding. | 

Notwithstanding all this, I am well aware that the advocates 
of this method have in their armoury another and a more potent 
argument. “A boy does not go to school,” they say, “‘to learn 
Latin and Greek, but to learn to confront disagreeable duties 
with equanimity, and to do what is distasteful to him with cheer- 
fulness.” To this I have nothing to say; it is unanswerable and 
final. If boys are sent to school to learn what the word disagree- 
able means, and to realise that the most tedious monotony is 
perfectly compatible with the most acute misery, and that the 
most assiduous labour, if it be not wisely directed, does not 
necessarily secure the attainment of the object ostensibly aimed 
at, then, indeed, does the public school offer the surest means 
of attaining this end. The most wretched day of my life, except 
the day when I left college, was the day I went to school. During 
the earlier portion of my school life I believe that I nearly 
fathomed the possibilities of human misery and despair. I 
learned then (what I am thankful to say I have unlearned since) 
to be a pessimist, a misanthrope, and a cynic; and I have learned 
since, what I did not understand then, that to know by rote a 


8 INTRODUCTORY 


quantity of grammatical rules is in itself not much more useful 
than to know how often each letter of the alphabet occurs in 
Paradise Lost, ot how many sepatate stones went to the building 
of the Great Pyramid?. 

It was the Turkish war with Russia in 1877-8 that first attracted 
my attention to the East, about which, till that time, I had known 
and cated nothing. To the young, war is always interesting, and 
I watched the progress of this struggle with eager attention. At 
first my proclivities were by no means for the Turks; but the 
losing side, more especially when it continues to struggle 
gallantly against defeat, always has a claim on our sympathy, 
and moreover the cant of the anti-Turkish party in England, and 
the wretched attempts to confound questions of abstract justice 
with party politics, dissusted me beyond measure. Ere the close 
of the war I would have died to save Turkey, and I mourned the 
fall of Plevna as though it had been a disaster inflicted on my own 
country. And so gradually pity turned to admiration, and admira- 
tion to enthusiasm, until the Turks became in my eyes veritable 
heroes, and the desire to identify myself with their cause, make 
my dwelling amongst them, and unite with them in the defence 
of their land, possessed me heart and soul. At the age of sixteen 
such enthusiasm more easily establishes itself in the heart, and, 
while it lasts (for it often fades as quickly as it bloomed), exercises 
a more absolute and uncontrolled sway over the mind than at 
a more advanced age. Even though it be transitory, its effects 
(as in my case) may be permanent. 

So now my whole ambition came to be this: how I might 
become in time an officer in the Turkish army. And the plan 


1 Many of my readers, even of those who may be inclined to agree with 
me as to the desirability of modifying the teaching of our public schools, 
will blame me for expressing myself so strongly. The value of a public-school 
education in the development of character cannot be denied, and in the teach- 
ing also great improvements have, I believe, been made within the last ten 
or fifteen years. But as far as my own experience goes, I do not feel that I 
have spoken at all too strongly. 


INTRODUCTORY 9 


which I proposed to myself was to enter first the English army, 
to remain there till I had learned my profession and attained the 
tank of captain, then to resign my commission and enter the 
setvice of the Ottoman Government, which, as I understood, 
gave a promotion of two grades. So wild a project will doubtless 
move many of my teaders to mirth, and some to indignation, 
but, such as it was, it was for a time paramount in my mind, and 
its influence outlived it. Its accomplishment, however, evidently 
needed time; and, as my enthusiasm demanded some immediate 
object, I résolved at once to begin the study of the Turkish 
language. 

Few of my teaders, probably, have had occasion to embark 
on this study, or even to consider what steps they would take 
if a desire to do so suddenly came upon them. I may therefore 
here remark that for one not resident in the metropolis it is far 
from easy to discover anything about the Turkish language, 
and almost impossible to find a teacher. However, after much 
seeking and many enquiries, I succeeded in obtaining a copy of 
Barker’s Turkish Grammar. Into this I plunged with enthusiasm. 
I learned Turkish verbs in the old school fashion, and blundered 
through the “‘Pleasantries of Khoja Nasru’d-Din Efendi”; but 
so ignorant was I, and so involved is the Ottoman construction, 
that it took me some time to discover that the language is written 
from right to left; while, true to the pan-Anglican system on which 
I have already animadverted, I read my Turkish as though it had 
been English, pronouncing, for example, the article dir and the 
substantive Jer exactly the same, and as though both, instead 
of neither, rhymed with the English words fr and fur. And 
so I bungled on for a while, making slow but steady progress, 
and wasting much time, but with undiminished enthusiasm; for 
which I was presently rewarded by discovering a teacher. This 
was an Irish clergyman, who had, I believe, served as a private 
in the Crimean War, picked up some Turkish, attracted attention 
by his proficiency in a language of which very few Englishmen 


IO INTRODUCTORY 


have any knowledge, and so gained employment as an interpreter. 
After the war he was ordained a clergyman of the Church of 
England, and remained for some years at Constantinople as a 
missionaty. I do not know how his work prospered; but if he 
succeeded in winning from the Turks half the sympathy and love 
with which they inspired him, his success must have been great 
indeed. When I discovered him, he had a cure of souls in the 
Consett iron district, having been driven from his last parish by 
the resentment of his flock (Whigs, almost to a man), which he 
had incurred by venturing publicly to defend the Turks at a 
time when they were at the very nadir of unpopularity, and when 
the outcry about the ‘“‘Bulgarian atrocities” was at its height. 
So the very religious and humane persons who composed his 
congregation announced to his vicar their intention of with- 
drawing their subscriptions and support from the church so long 
as the “Bashi-bozouk” (such, as he informed me, not without 
a cettain pride, was the name they had given him) occupied its 
pulpit. So there was nothing for it but that he should go. Isolated 
in the uncongenial environment to which he was transferred, he 
was, I think, almost as eager to teach me Turkish as I was to 
learn it, and many a pleasant hour did I pass in his little parlour 
listening with inexhaustible delight to the anecdotes of his life 
in Constantinople which he loved to tell. Peace be to his memory! 
He died in Africa, once more engaged in mission work, not long 
after I went to Cambridge. 

One of the incidental charms of Orientalism is the kindness 
and sympathy often shown by scholars of the greatest distinction 
and the highest attainments to the young beginner, even when 
he has no introduction save the pass-word of a common and 
much-loved pursuit. Of this I can recall many instances, but it is 
sufficient to mention the first in my experience. Expecting to be 
in, or within reach of, London fora time, I was anxious to improve 
the occasion by prosecuting my Turkish studies (for the “‘ Bashi- 
bozouk”’ had recently left Consett for Hull), and to this end 


INTRODUCTORY II 


wished to find a proficient teacher. As I knew not how else to 
set about this, I finally, and somewhat audaciously, determined 
to write to the late Sir James (then Mr) Redhouse (whose name 
the study of his valuable writings on the Ottoman language had 
made familiar to me as that of a patron saint), asking for his 
advice and help. This letter I addressed to the cate of his pub- 
lishers; and in a few days I received, to my intense delight, a 
most kind reply, in which he, the first Turkish scholar in Europe 
ptobably, not only gave me all the information I required, but 
invited me to pay him a visit whenever I came to London, an 
invitation of which, as may be readily believed, I availed myself 
at the earliest possible opportunity. And so gradually I came to 
know others who were able and willing to help me in my studies, 
including several Turkish gentlemen attached to the Ottoman 
Embassy in London, from some of whom I received no little 
kindness. 

But if my studies prospered, it was otherwise with the some- 
what chimerical project in which they had originated. My father 
did not wish me to enter the army, but proposed medicine as an 
alternative to engineering. As the former profession seemed more 
compatible with my aspirations than the latter, I eagerly accepted 
his offer. A few days after this decision had been arrived at, he 
consulted an eminent physician, who was one of his oldest friends, 
as to my future education. “If you wanted to make your son 
a doctor,” said my father, ““where would you send him?” And 
the answer, given without a moment’s hesitation, was, “‘To 
Cambridge.” 

So to Cambridge I went in October 1879, which date marks 
for me the beginning of a new and most happy era of life; for 
I suppose that a man who cannot be happy at the University must 
be incapable of happiness. Here my medical studies occupied, 
of course, the major part of my time and attention, and that right 
pleasantly; for, apart from their intrinsic interest, the teaching 
was masterly, and even subjects at first repellent can be made 


12 INTRODUCTORY 


attractive when taught by a master possessed of grasp, eloquence, 
and enthusiasm, just as a teacher who lacks these qualities will 
make the most interesting subjects appear devoid of charm. Yet 
still I found time to devote to Eastern languages. Turkish, it is 
true, was not then to be had at Cambridge; but I had already 
discovered that for further progress in this some knowledge of 
_ Arabic and Persian was requisite; and to these I determined to 
turn my attention. During my first year I therefore began to 
study Arabic with the late Professor Palmer, whose extraordinary 
and varied abilities are too well known to need any celebration 
on my part. No man had a higher ideal of knowledge in the 
matter of languages, or mote original (and, as I believe, sounder) 
views as to the method of learning them. These views I have 
already set forth substantially and summarily; and I will therefore 
say no more about them in this place, save that I absorbed them 
greedily, and derived from them no small advantage, learning 
by their application more of Arabic in one term than I had 
learned of Latin or Greek during five and a half years, and this 
notwithstanding the fact that I could devote to it only a small 
portion of my time. 

I began Persian in the Long Vacation of 1880. Neither 
Professor Palmer nor Professor Cowell was resident in Cam- 
bridge at that time; but I obtained the assistance of an under- 
graduate of Indian nationality, who, though the son of Hindoo 
parents converted to Christianity, had an excellent knowledge 
not only of Persian and Sanskrit, but of Arabic. To this know- 
ledge, which was my admiration and envy, he for his part seemed 
to attach little importance; all his pride was in playing the fiddle, 
on which, so far as I could judge, he was a very indifferent per- 
former. But as it gave him pleasure to have a listener, a kind of 
tacit understanding grew up that when he had helped me for an 
hour to read the Gu/istdn, 1 in return should sit and listen for a 
while to his fiddling, which I did with such appearance of pleasure 
as I could command. 


INTRODUCTORY 13 


For two years after this—that is to say, till I took my degree— 
such work as I did in Persian and Arabic was done chiefly by 
myself, though I managed to run up to London for an afternoon 
once a fortnight or so for a Turkish lesson, till the Lent Term 
of 1881, when the paramount claims of that most exacting of 
taskmastets, the river, took from me for some weeks the right 
to call my afternoons my own. And when the Lent races were 
over, I had to think seriously about my approaching tripos; while 
a promise made to me by my father, that if I succeeded in passing 
both it and the examination for the second M.B. at the end of 
my third year (.e. in June 1882), I should spend two months of 
the succeeding Long Vacation in Constantinople, determined me 
to exert all my efforts to win this dazzling bribe. This resolution 
cost me a good deal, but I was amply rewarded for my self- 
denial when, in July 1882, I at length beheld the minarets of 
Stamboul, and heard the Mw’exzzn call the true believers to prayer. 
I have heard people express themselves as disappointed with 
Constantinople. I suppose that, wherever one goes, one sees in 
great measure what one expects to see (because there is good 
and evil in all things, and the eye discerns but one when the 
mind is occupied by a preconceived idea); but I at least suffered 
no disenchantment, and returned to England with my enthusiasm 
for the East not merely undiminished, but, if possible, inten- 
sified. 

The two succeeding years were years of undiluted pleasure, 
for I was still at Cambridge, and was now able to devote my 
whole time to the study of Oriental languages. As I intended 
to become a candidate for the Indian Languages Tripos in 1884, 
I was obliged to begin the study of Hindustani, a language from 
which I never could succeed in deriving much pleasure. During 
this period I became acquainted with a very learned but very 
eccentric old Persian, Mirz4 Muhammad Bakir, of Bawanat in 
Fars, surnamed Ibrahim Jan Mu‘attar. Having wandered through 
half the world, learned (and learned well) half a dozen languages, 


14 INTRODUCTORY 


and been successively a Shi‘ite Muhammadan, a dervish, a 
Christian, an atheist, and a Jew, he had finished by elaborating 
a teligious system of his own, which he called “‘Islamo-Chris- 
tianity,” to the celebration (I can hardly say the elucidation) of 
which in English tracts and Persian poems, composed in the most 
bizarre style, he devoted the greater part of his time, talents, and 

money. He was in every way a most remarkable man, and one 
whom it was impossible not to respect and like, in spite of his 
appalling loquacity, his unreason, his disputatiousness, his utter 
impracticability. I never saw anyone who lived so entirely in a 
fantastic ideal world of his own creation. He was totally in- 
different to his own temporal interests; cared nothing for money, 
personal comfort, or the favour of the powerful; and often 
alienated his acquaintances by violent attacks on their most 
cherished beliefs, and drove away his friends by the ceaseless 
torrent of his eloquence. He lived in a squalid little room in 
Limehouse, surrounded by piles of dusty books, mostly theo- 
logical treatises in Persian and Arabic, with a sprinkling of 
Hebrew and English volumes, amongst which last Carlyle’s 
Sartor Resartus and Heroes and Hero-Worship occupied the place 
of honour. Of these, however, he made but little use, for he 
generally wrote when alone, and talked when he could get anyone 
to listen to him. I tried to persuade him to read with me those 
portions of the Masnavi and the Divan of Hafiz set for my exami- 
nation, and offered to remunerate him for his trouble; but this 
plan failed on its first trial. We had not read for twenty minutes 
when he suddenly pushed away the Hafiz, dragged out from a 
drawer in the rickety little table a pile of manuscript, and said, 
“T like my own poetry better than this, and if you want me to 
teach you Persian you must learn it as I please. I don’t want 
your money, but I do want you to understand my thoughts about 
religion. You can understand Hafiz by yourself, but you cannot 
understand my poetry unless I explain it to you.” ‘This was 
certainly true: allusions to grotesque visions in which figured 


INTRODUCTORY 15 


etass-eating lions, bears, yellow demons, Gog and Magog, 
“Crusaders,” and Hebrew and Arab patriarchs, saints, and 
wattiors, were jumbled up with current politics, personal remi- 
niscences, Rabbinic legends, mystical rhapsodies, denunciations, 
prophecies, old Persian mythology, Old Testament theology, 
and Kur’anic exegesis in a manner truly bewildering, the whole 
being clothed in a Persian so quaint, so obscure, and so replete 
with rare, dialectical, and foreign words, that many verses were 
incomprehensible even to educated Persians, to whom, for the 
most part, the “Little Sun of London” (Shumeysa-t-Landaniyya— 
so he called the longest of his published poems) was a source of 
terror. One of my Persian friends (for I made acquaintance about 
this time with several young Persians who were studying in 
London) would never consent to visit me until he had received 
an assurance that the poet-prophet-philosopher of Bawanat would 
be out of the way. I, however, by dint of long listening and much 
patience, not without some weariness, learned from him much 
that was of value to me besides the correct Persian pronuncia- 
tion. For I had originally acquired from my Indian friend the 
erroneous and unlovely pronunciation current in India, which I 
now abandoned with all possible speed, believing the “French of 
Paris” to be preferable to the “French of Stratford atte Bowe.” 
Towards the end of 1884 Mirza Bakir left London for the East 
with his surviving children, a daughter of about eighteen and 
a son of about ten yeats of age, both of whom had been brought 
up away from him in the Christian religion, and neither of whom 
knew any language but English. The girl’s failing health (for 
she was threatened with consumption) was the cause of his 
departure. I had just left Cambridge, and entered at St Bartholo- 
mew’s Hospital, where I found my time and energies fully 
occupied with my new work. Tired as I often was, however, 
when I got away from the wards, I had to make almost daily 
pilgrimages to Limehouse, where I often remained till nearly 
midnight; for Mirza Bakir refused to leave London till 1 had 


16 INTRODUCTORY 


finished reading a versified commentary on the Kur’4n on which 
he had been engaged for some time, and of which he wished to 
bestow the manuscript on me as a keepsake. “My daughter will 
die,”’ said he, ‘‘as the doctors tell me, unless she leaves for 
Beyrout in a short time, and it is you who prevent me from taking 
her there; for I will not leave London until you have understood 
my book.” Argument was useless with such a visionaty; so, 
willing or no, I had to spend every available hour in the little 
room at Limehouse, ever on the watch to check the interminable 
digressions to which the reading of the poem continually gave 
tise. At last it was finished, and the very next day, if I remember 
tightly, Mirza Bakir started with his children for the East. I 
never saw him again, though I continued to correspond with him 
so long as he was at Beyrout, whence, I think, he was finally 
expelled by the Ottoman Government as a firebrand menacing 
the peace of the community. He then went with his son to Persia 
(his daughter had died previously at Beyrout), whence news of 
his death reached me a year or two ago. 

And now for three years (1884-7) it was only an occasional 
leisure hour that I could snatch from my medical studies for a 
chat with my Persian friends (who, though they knew English 
well for the most part, were kind enough to talk for my benefit 
theit own language), or for quiet communing in the cool vaulted 
reading-room of the British Museum with my favourite Sufi 
writers, whose mystical idealism, which had long since cast its 
- spell over my mind, now supplied me with a powerful antidote 
against the pessimistic tendencies evoked by the daily contem- 
plation of misery and pain. This period was far from being an 
unhappy one, for my work, if hard, was full of interest; and if 
in the hospital I saw much that was sad, much that made me 
wonder at man’s clinging to life (since to the vast majority life 
seemed but a succession of pains, struggles, and sorrows), on 
the other hand I saw much to strengthen my faith in the goodness 
and nobility of human nature. Never before or since have I 


INTRODUCTORY 17 


tealised so clearly the immortality, greatness, and virtue of the 
spirit of man, or the misery of its earthly environment: it seemed 
to me like a prince in rags, ignorant alike of his birth and his 
rights, but to whom is reserved a glorious heritage. No wonder, 
then, that the Pantheistic idealism of the Masnavi took hold of 
me, or that such words as these of Hafiz thrilled me to the very 


soul: 
“Turd xi kungara-i-arsh mt-zanand safir: 
Na-danamat ki dar in khakdan ché uftddast.” 


“They are calling to thee from the pinnacles of the throne of God: 
I know not what hath befallen thee in this dust-heap” (the world). 


Even my medical studies, strange as it may appear, favoured 
the development of this habit of mind; for physiology, when 
it does not encourage materialism, encoutages mysticism; and 
nothing so much tends to shake one’s faith in the reality of the 
objective world as the examination of certain of the subjective 
phenomena of mental and nervous disorders. 

But now this period, too, was drawing to a close, and my 
dreams of visiting Persia, even when their accomplishment 
seemed most unlikely, were rapidly approaching fulfilment. The 
hopes with which I had left Cambridge had been damped by 
repeated disappointments. I had thought that the knowledge 
I had acquired of Persian, Turkish, and Arabic might enable me 
to find employment in the Consular Service, but had learned from 
cutt official letters, referring me to printed official regulations, 
that this was not so, that these languages were not recognised 
as subjects of examination, and that not they, but German, Greek, 
Spanish, and Italian were the qualifications by which one might 
hope to become a consul in Western Asia. The words of 
Dr Wright’s warning came back to me, and I acknowledged 
their justice. To my professional studies, I felt, and not to my 
linguistic attainments, must I look to earn my livelihood. 

I had passed my final examinations at the College of Surgeons, 
the College of Physicians, and the University of Cambridge, 


B 2 


18 INTRODUCTORY 


teceived from the two former, with a sense of exultation which 
I well remember, the diplomas authorising me to practise, and 
was beginning to consider what my next step should be, when 
the luck of which I had despaired came to me at last. Returning 
to my rooms on the evening of 30th May 1887, I found a telegram 
lying on the table. I opened it with indifference, which changed, 
in the moment I grasped its purport, to ecstatic joy. I had 
that day been elected a Fellow of my College. 








Crt A Pr Re L 


FROM ENGLAND, TO THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 


“Fa md adri, idhd yammamtu arden 
Uridu’l-khayra, ayyuhuma yalini: 
AV’ al-khayru’ladhi ana abtaghihi, 
Ami’ sh-sharru’ladhi huwa yabtaghini.” 


“ And I know not, when bound for the land of my quest, if my portion shall be 
The good which I hope for and seek, or the evil that seeketh for me.” 
(AL Muthakkibu'l-‘ Abdi.) 


O at last I was really to go to Persia. About that there could 

be no question. For I had long determined to go if I got the 
chance; and now, not only had the opportunity come, but, in 
view of the probability that the University would soon require 
a resident teacher of Persian, I was urged by my friends at Cam- 
bridge to spend the first year of my fellowship in the way which 
would best qualify me for this post. Yet, as the time for my 
departure approached, a strange shrinking from this journey 
which I had so much desired—a shrinking to which I look back 
with shame and wonder, and for which I can in no wise account 
—took possession of me. It arose partly, I suppose, from the 
sudden reaction which unexpected good fortune will at times 
produce; partly, if not from ill health, at least from that lowering 
of the vitality which results from hard work and lack of exercise 
and fresh air; partly also from the worry inseparable from the 
preparations for a long journey into regions little known. But, 
whatever its cause, it did much to mar my happiness at a time 
when I had no excuse for being otherwise than happy. At 
length, however, it came to an end. Bewildered by conflicting 


2-2 


20 FROM ENGLAND TO 


counsels as to the equipment which I should need and the route 
which I had best take, I at last settled the matter by booking my 
passage from Marseilles to Batoum at the London office of the 
Messageries Maritimes, and by adding to the two small port- 
manteaus into which I had compressed so much clothing as 
appeared absolutely indispensable nothing but a Wolseley valise, 
a saddle and bridle, a pith hat (which was broken to pieces long 
before the summer came round), a small medicine-chest, a few 
sutgical instruments, a revolver, a box of a hundred cartridges, 
a few books, a passport with the Russian and Turkish visas, and 
a money-belt containing about {200 in gold, paper, and circular 
notes. At the last moment I was joined by an old college friend, 
H——, who, having just completed a term of office at the 
hospital, was desirous to travel, and whose proposal to join me 
I welcomed. He was my companion as far as Teheran, where, 
as I desired to tarry for a while, and he to proceed, we were 
obliged to separate. 

We had booked our passage, as I have said, to Batoum, in- 
tending to take the train thence to Baku, and so by the Caspian 
to Resht in Persia. For this route, unquestionably the shortest 
and easiest, I had from the first felt little liking, my own wish 
being to enter Persia through Turkey, either by way of Damascus 
and Baghdad, or of Trebizonde and Erzeroum. I had suffered 
myself to be persuaded against my inclinations, which, I think, 
where no question of principle is involved, is always a mistake, 
for the longer and harder way of one’s own choosing is preferable 
to the shorter and easier way chosen by another. And so, as 
soon as I was withdrawn from the influences which had tem- 
porarily overcome my own judgment and inclination, I began to 
repent of having adopted an uncongenial plan, and to consider 
whether even now, at this eleventh hour, it was not possible to 
change. The sight of the Turkish shore and the sound of the 
Turkish tongue (for we stayed two days at Constantinople, 
whence to Trebizonde the deck of the steamer was crowded 


THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 21 


with Turks and Persians, with whom I spent the greater part of 
each day in conversing) swept away my last scruples as to the 
wisdom of thus reversing at the outset a decision which had been 
fully discussed. I consulted with H——-, who taised no objec- 
tion; and we decided on reaching Trebizonde (where the steamer 
anchored on 4th October) to enquire at the British Consulate as 
to the safety and practicability of the old caravan road leading 
thence into Central Asia, and, if the report were favourable, to 
adopt that route. 

There was a heavy swell in the open roadstead, and the wind, 
which rolled back the rain-clouds on the green, thickly-wooded 
hills, seemed to be rising, as we clambeted into one of the clumsy 
boats which hovered round the steamer to go ashore. Nor had 
the gruff old captain’s answer to my enquity as to how long the 
steamer would lie there tended to reassure me. “If the wind gets 
up much more,” he had said, “I may start at any time.” “And 
if we are on shore,” I demanded, “‘how shall we know that you 
ate starting?” “Vous me verrex partir, voila tout,’ he replied, 
— and, with a shrug of his shoulders, walked off to his cabin. So 
I was somewhat uneasy in my mind lest, while we were conduct- 
ing our enquiries on shore, the steamer might put out to sea, 
beating with it all our worldly goods. This disquieting reflection 
was dispelled by the shock of the boat striking against the little 
wooden jetty. We stepped out, and found ourselves confronted 
by one of the Turkish police, who demanded our passports. 
These had not been presented, as theoretically they should have 
been, at Constantinople for a fresh vzsa, and I feared we might 
consequently have some trouble in landing. However, I assumed 
an ait of confident alacrity, produced the passports, and pointed 
to the seal of the Turkish Consulate given in London. As the 
visa—“bon pour se rendre a Constantinople’”—to which this was 
attached was in French, the officer was not much the wiser, and, 
after scrutinising the passports (which he held upside down) with 
a critical air, he returned them and stood aside to let us pass. 


22 FROM ENGLAND TO 


And this is typical of Turkey, where the laws, though theoreti-. 
cally stringent, are not practically troublesome; in which point 
it has the advantage over Russia. 

Guided by a boy belonging to our boat, we ascended through 
nattow, tortuous streets to the British Consulate, where, though 
unprovided with recommendations, we received from the Consul, 
Mr Longworth, that courteous and kindly welcome which, to 
- their honour be it said, Englishmen (and, indeed, other Euro- 
peans, as well as Americans) resident in the Turkish and Persian 
dominions seldom fail to give the traveller. In reply to our 
enquiries, he told us that the road to the Persian frontier was 
perfectly safe, and that we should have no difficulty in hiring 
horses ot mules to convey us to Erzeroum, whence we could 
easily engage others for the journey to Tabriz. He also kindly 
offered to send his dragoman, an Armenian gentleman, named 
Hekimian, to assist us in clearing our baggage at the custom- 
house. So we returned to the steamer to bring it ashore. As we 
pushed our way through the deck-passengers to the side of the 
ship, some of my Persian acquaintances called out to me to tell 
them why I was disembarking and whither I was going, and, 
on learning my intention of taking the old caravan-road through 
‘Erzeroum, they cried, “‘O dear soul, it will take you three months 
to get to Teheran thus, if indeed you get there at all! Why have 
you thus made your road difficult?” But the step was taken now, 
and I paid no heed to their words. 

The custom-house, thanks to the egis of the British Con- 
sulate, dealt very gently with us. We were even asked, if I remem- 
ber right, which of our packages we should prefer to have 
opened. H——-’s Wolseley valise was selected; but we forgot 
that his rifle had been rolled up in it. The Turkish excisemen 
stroked their chins a little at this sight (for fire-arms ate contra- 
band), but said nothing. When this form of examination was over 
we thanked the mudir, or superintendent, for his courtesy, gave 
a few small coins to his subordinates, and, with the help of two 


THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 23 


ot three sturdy porters, transported our luggage to the one hotel 
which Trebizonde possesses. It is called the “Hotel d’Italie,” 
and, though unpretentious, is clean and comfortable. During 
the three days we spent there we had no cause to complain either 
of being underfed or overcharged. 

Next morning our preparations began in earnest. Hekimian 
was of inestimable service, arranging everything and accom- 
panying us everywhere. The Russian paper-money with which 
we had provided ourselves for the earlier part of the journey 
was soon converted into Turkish gold; tinned provisions and 
a few simple cooking utensils and other necessaries were bought 
in the bazaars; and arrangements were concluded with two sturdy 
muleteers for the journey to Erzeroum. They on their part agreed 
to provide us with five horses for ourselves and our baggage, 
to convey us to Erzeroum in six or seven days, and to do what 
lay in their power to render the journey pleasant; while we on 
our part covenanted to pay them 64 Turkish pounds (£3 down, 
and the remainder at Erzeroum), to which we promised to add 
a trifle if they gave us satisfaction. 

There remained a more important matter, the choice of a 
servant to accompany us on the journey. Two candidates pre- 
sented themselves: an honest-looking old Turkish Kavyds of the 
Consulate, and a shifty Armenian, who, on the strength of his 
alleged skill in cookery, demanded exorbitantly high wages. 
We chose the Turk, agreeing to pay him one Turkish pound a 
week, to guarantee this payment for six months, and to defray 
his expenses back to Trebizonde from any point at which we 
might finally leave him. It was a tash agreement, and might 
have caused us more trouble than it actually did, but there 
seemed to be no better alternative, seeing that a servant was an 
absolute necessity. The old Turk’s real name was ‘Omar; but, 
having regard to the detestation in which this name is held in 
Persia (for he whom Sunnite Muhammadans account the second 
Caliph, or successor of the Prophet, is regarded by the sect of 


24 FROM ENGLAND TO 


the Shi‘a as the worst of evil-doers and usurpets)!, it was decided 
that he should henceforth bear the more auspicious name of ‘Ali, 
the darling hero of the Persian Shi‘ites. As for our old servant’s 
character, viewed in the light of subsequent experience, I do him 
but justice when I express my conviction that a more honest, 
straightforward, faithful, loyal soul could not easily be found 
anywhere. But, on the other hand, he was rather fidgety; rather 
obstinate; too old to travel in a strange country, adapt himself 
to new sutroundings, and learn a new language; and too simple 
to cope with the astute and wily Persians, whom, moreover, 
religious and national prejudices caused him ever to regard with 
unconquerable aversion. 

This business concluded, we had still to get our passports for 
the interior. Hekimian accompanied us to the Government 
offices, where, while a courteous old Turk entertained me with 
coffee and conversation, a shrewd-looking subordinate noted 
down the details of our personal appearance in the spaces reserved 
for that purpose on the passport. I was amused on receiving the 
document to find my religion described as “English” and my 
moustache as “fresh” (¢er), but not altogether pleased at the 
entries in the “head” and “chin” columns, which respectively 
wete “top” (bullet-shaped) and ‘“‘deyirmen” (round). Before 
leaving the Government-house we paid our respects to Surtri 
Efendi, the governor of Trebizonde, one of the judges who tried 
and condemned the wise and patriotic Midhat Pasha. He was 
a fine-looking old man, and withal courteous; but he is reputed 
to be corrupt and bigoted. | 

In the evening at the hotel we made the acquaintance of a 
Belgian mining-engineer, who had lived for some time in Persia. 
The account which he gave of that country and its inhabitants 


1 The repetition of the following curse on the three first Caliphs of the 
Sunnis is accounted by Persian Shi‘ites as a pious exercise of singular virtue: 
“O God, curse “Omar: then Abu Bekr and ‘Omar: then ‘Othman and ‘Omar: 
then ‘Omar: then “Omar!” 


THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 25 


was far from encouraging. “I have travelled in many lands,” 
he said, “cand have discovered some good qualities in every 
people, with the exception of the Persians, in whom I have failed 
to find a single admirable characteristic. Their very language 
bears witness against them and exposes the sordidness of their 
minds. When they wish to thank you they say, ‘ Lutf-7-shumd 
xiydd, “May your kindness be increased,’ that is, “May you give 
me something more’; and when they desite to support an asser- 
tion with an oath they say ‘ Bi-/dn-i-“‘aziz-i-khudat, “By thy 
precious life,’ or ‘ Bz-marg-i-shumd, “By your death,’ that is, “May 
you die if I speak untruly.’! And they would be as indifferent to 
your death as to the truth of their own assertions.” 

Although we were ready to start on the following day, we 
were prevented from doing so by a steady downpour of rain. 
Having completed all our arrangements, we paid a visit to the 
Persian Consulate in company with Mr Longworth. In answer 
to our enquiry as to whether our passports required his vzsa, 
the Persian Consul signified that this was essential, and, for 
the sum of one mejidiyyé apiece, endorsed each of them with a 
_ lengthy inscription so tastefully executed that it seemed a pity 
that, during the whole period of our sojourn in Persia, no one 
asked to see them. Though perfectly useless and unnecessary, the 
Visa, aS a specimen of calligraphy, was cheap at the price. 

Next day (Friday, 7th October) the rain had ceased, and at 
an eatly hour we were plunged in the confusion without which, 
as it would seem, not even the smallest caravan can start. The 
muleteers, who had been urging us to hasten our preparations, 
disappeared so soon as everything was ready. When they had 
been found and brought back, it was discovered that no bridle 
had been provided for H ’s horse; for, though both of us had 





1 Apart from the doubtful justice of judging a people by the idioms of their 
language, it may be pointed out that, with regard to the two last expressions, 
they are based on the idea that to swear by one’s own life or death would be 
to swear by a thing of little value compared to the life or death of a friend. 


26 FROM ENGLAND TO 


brought saddles from England, he had thought that it would 
be better to use a native bridle. Eventually one was procured, 
and, about 9 a.m., we emerged from the little crowd which had 
been watching our proceedings with a keen interest, and rode out 
of the town. Our course lay for a little while along the coast, 
until we reached the mouth of the valley of Khosh Oghlan, 
which we entered, turning to the south. The beauty of the day, 
which the late rains had rendered pleasantly cool, combined with 
the novelty of the scene and the picturesque appearance of the 
people whom we met on the toad, raised our spirits, and com- 
pletely removed certain misgivings as to the wisdom of choosing 
this route which, when it was too late to draw back, had taken 
possession of my mind. The horses which we rode were good, 
and, leaving the muleteers and baggage behind, we pushed on 
until, at 2.30 p.m., we reached the pretty little village of Jevizlik, 
the first halting-place out of Trebizonde. Here we should have 
halted for the night; but, since the muleteers had not informed 
us of their plans, and it was still early, we determined to proceed 
to Khamsé-Kyiiy, and accordingly continued our course up the 
beautiful wooded valley towards the pass of Zighdna-dagh, 
which gleamed before us white with newly-fallen snow. During 
the latter part of the day we fell in with a wild-looking horseman, 
who informed me that he, like all the inhabitants of Khamsé- 
Kyiiy, was a Christian. 

It was quite dark before we reached Khamsé-Kyiiy, and it 
took us some little time to find a k+du at which to rest for the 
night. The muleteers and baggage were far behind, and at first 
it seemed probable that we should have to postpone our supper 
till their arrival, or else do without it altogether. However, ‘Ali 
presently succeeded in obtaining some bread, and also a few eggs, 
which he fried in oil, so that, with the whisky in our flasks, we 
fared better than might have been expected. 

At about 9 p.m. the muleteers arrived and demanded to see 
me at once. They were very tired, and very angry because we 


THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 27 


had not waited for them at Jevizlik. I did not at first easily 
understand the cause of their indignation (for this was my first 
experience of this kind of travelling, and my ideas about the 
capacity of horses were rather vague) till it was explained to me 
that at the present rate of proceeding both men and animals 
would be wearied out long before we reached Erzeroum. “O 
my soul!” said the elder muleteer in conclusion, more in sorrow 
than in anger, “‘a fine novice art thou if thou thinkest that these 
horses can go so swiftly from morning till evening without rest 
ot food. Henceforth let us proceed in company at a slower pace, 
by which means we shall all, please God, reach Erzeroum with 
safety and comfort in seven days, even as was agreed between 
us.”” Not much pleased at thus being admonished, but compelled 
to admit the justice of the muleteer’s remarks, | betook myself 
to the Wolseley valise which I had, after much deliberation, 
selected as the form of bed most suitable for the journey. Ex- 
cellent as this contrivance is, and invaluable as it proved to be, 
my first night in it was anything but comfortable. As I intended 

to stuff with straw the space left for that purpose beneath the 
lining, I had neglected to bring a mattress. Straw, however, 
was not forthcoming, and I was therefore painfully conscious of 
evety irregularity in the ill-paved floor; while the fleas which 
infest most Turkish k+dns did not fail on this occasion to welcome 
the advent of the stranger. In spite of these discomforts and the 
novelty of my surroundings I soon fell fast asleep. 

Looking back at those first days of my journey in the light of 
fuller experience, I marvel at the discomforts which we readily 
endured, and even courted by our ignorance and lack of foresight. 

Bewildered by conflicting counsels as to equipment, I had 
finally resolved to take only what appeared absolutely essential, 
and to reduce our baggage to the smallest possible compass. 
Prepared by what I had read in books of Eastern travel to endure 
discomforts far exceeding any which I was actually called upon 
to experience, I had yet to learn how comfortably one may travel 


28 FROM ENGLAND TO 


even in countties where the railroad and the hotel are unknown. 
Yet I do not regret this experience, which at least taught me how 
few are the necessaries of life, and how needless ate many of 
those things which we are accustomed to regard as such. Indeed, 
I am by no means certain that the absence of many luxuries 
which we commonly regard as indispensable to our happiness 
is not fully compensated for by the freedom from care and 
hurry, the continual variety of scenery and costume, and the 
sense of health produced by exposure to the open air, which, 
taken together, constitute the irresistible charm of Eastern travel. 

On the following morning we were up betimes, and after a 
steep ascent of an hour or so reached the summit of the pass of 
Zighana-dagh, which was thinly covered with a dazzling garment 
of snow. Here we passed a little khdn, which would have been 
our second resting-place had we halted at Jevizlik on the pre- 
ceding day instead of pushing on to Khamsé-Kyiiy. As it was, 
however, we passed it without stopping, and commenced the 
descent to the village of Zighana-Kyiiy, where we halted for 
an hour to rest and refresh ourselves and the horses. Excellent 
fruit and coffee were obtainable here; and as we had yielded to 
the muleteers’ request that we should not separate ourselves 
from the baggage, we had our own provisions as well, and 
altogether fared much better than on the previous day. 

After the completion of our meal we proceeded on our journey, 
and towards evening reached the pretty little hamlet of Kyiipri- 
bashi situated on a river called, from the town of Ardessa through 
which it flows, Ardessa-irmaghi, in which we enjoyed the luxury 
of a bathe. The inhabitants of this delightful spot were few in 
number, peaceable in appearance, and totally devoid of that 
inquisitiveness about strangers which is so characteristic of the 
Persians. Although it can hardly be the case that many Europeans 
pass through their village, they scarcely looked at us, and asked 
but few questions as to our business, nationality, or destination. 
This lack of curiosity, which, so far as my experience goes, 


THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 29 


usually characterises the Turkish peasant, extends to all his 
sutroundings. Enquiries as to the name of a wayside flower, or 
the fate of a traveller whose last resting-place was marked by 
a mound of earth at the roadside, were alike met with a half- 
scornful, half-amused “kim bilir?” (“who knows?”’), indicative 
of surprise on the part of the person addressed at being questioned 
on a matter in which, as it did not concern himself, he felt no 
interest. In Persia, more especially in Southern Persia, it is quite 
otherwise; and, whether right or wrong, an ingenious answer is 
usually forthcoming to the traveller’s enquiries. 

Our third day’s march took us first through the town of 
Ardessa, and then through the village of Demirji-suyu, on 
emerging from which we were confronted and stopped by two 
most evil-looking individuals armed to the teeth with pistols 
and daggers. My first idea was that they were robbers; but, on 
riding forward to ascertain their business, I discovered that they 
were excisemen of a kind called dightaban, whose business it is 
to watch for and seize tobacco which does not bear the stamp 
of the Ottoman Régie. It appeared that some one, either from 
malice or a misdirected sense of humour, had laid information 
against us, alleging that we had in our possession a quantity of 
such tobacco. A violent altercation took place between the ex- 
cisemen and our servant “Ali, whose pockets they insisted on 
searching, and whose tobacco-pouch was torn in two in the 
struggle. Meanwhile the muleteers continued to manifest the 
most ostentatious eagerness to unload our baggage and submit 
it to examination, until finally, by protestations and remon- 
strances, we prevailed on the custom-house officers to let us pass. 
The cause of the muleteers’ unnecessary eagerness to open our 
baggage now became apparent. Sidling up to my horse, one of 
these honest fellows triumphantly showed me a great bag of 
smuggled tobacco which he had secreted in his pocket. I asked 
him what he would have done if it had been detected, whereat 
he tapped the stock of a pistol which was thrust into his belt 


30 FROM ENGLAND TO 


with a sinister and suggestive smile. Although I could not help 
being amused at his cool impudence, I was far from being tre- 
assuted by the warlike propensities which this gesture revealed. 

Continuing on out way, and still keeping near the river, we 
passed one or two old castles, situated on rocky heights, which, 
we wete informed, had been built by the Genoese. Towards 
noon we entered the valley of Gyumish-Khané, so-called from 
the silver mines which occur in the neighbourhood. This valley 
- is walled in by steep and rocky cliffs, and is barren and arid, 
except near the river, which is surrounded by beautiful orchards. 
Indeed the pears and apples of Gyumish-Khané are celebrated 
throughout the district. We passed several prosperous-looking 
villages, at one of which we halted for lunch. Here for the first 
time I tasted petmex, a kind of treacle or syrup made from fruit. 
In Persia this is known as dushdb ot shiré; it is not unpalatable, 
and we used occasionally to eat it with boiled rice as a substitute 
for pudding. Here also we fell in with a respectable-looking 
Armenian going on foot to Erzeroum. Anyone wotse equipped 
for a journey of 150 miles on foot I never saw. He wore a black 
frock-coat and a fez; his feet were shod with slippers down at 
the heels; and to protect himself from the heat of the sun he 
carried a large white umbrella. He looked so hot and tired and 
dusty that I was moved to compassion, and asked him whether 
he would not like to ride my horse for a while. This offer he 
gladly accepted, whereupon I dismounted and walked for a few 
miles, until he announced that he was sufficiently rested and 
would proceed on foot. He was so grateful for this indulgence 
that he bore us company as far as Erzeroum, and would readily 
have followed us farther had we encouraged him to do so. Evety 
day H——- and myself allowed him to ride for some distance on 
out horses, and the poor man’s journey was, I trust, thereby 
rendered less fatiguing to him. 

During the latter part of the day our course lay through a 
most gloomy and desolate valley, walled in with red rocks and 


THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 31 


utterly devoid of trees or verdure. Emerging from this, and 
passing another fine old castle situated on a lofty and precipitous 
ctag, we attived about 5 p.m. at the little hamlet of Tekké, where 
we halted for the night. It is rather a miserable place, containing 
several khdns swarming with Persian camel-drivers, but very few 
private houses. A shallow river which runs near it again enabled 
us to enjoy the luxury of a bathe. . 

Our fourth day’s march was very dreary, lying for the most 
part through gloomy ravines walled in with reddish tocks, like 
that which we had traversed at the end of the previous day’s 
journey. In addition to the depressing character of the scene, 
thete was a report that robbers were lurking in the neighbour- 
hood, and we were consequently joined by several pedestrians, 
all armed to the teeth, who sought safety in numbers. Shortly 
after noon we halted at a small roadside inn, where we obtained 
some cheese, and a not very savoury compound called kawirma, 
which consists of small square lumps of mutton imbedded in 
fat. At 3 p.m. we reached the solitary Abd of Kadarak, which 
_ was to be our halting-place for the night. A few zabtiyyés were 
lounging about outside, waiting for the post, which was expected 
to pass shortly. As it was still early, I went out into the balcony 
to wtite my diary and contemplate the somewhat cheerless view; 
but I was soon interrupted by our Armenian fellow-traveller, 
who came to tell me that the zabtiyyés outside were watching my 
proceedings with no favourable eye, and suspected that I was 
drawing maps of the country. He therefore advised me either 
to stop writing or to retire indoors, lest my diary should be 
seized and destroyed. Whether the Armenian spoke the truth, or 
whether he was merely indulging that propensity to revile the 
tuling race for which the Christian subjects of the Porte are 
conspicuous, I had no means of deciding, so I thought it best to 
follow his advice and retire from the balcony till I had completed 
my writing. 

Our fifth day’s march led us through the interesting old 


32 FROM ENGLAND TO 


Armenian village of Varzahan. Just before teaching this we 
passed several horsemen, who were engaged in wild and ap- 
parently purposeless evolutions, accompanied with much firing 
of guns. It appeared that these had come out to welcome the 
Ka@’im-makdm of Diyadin, who had been dismissed from office, 
and was returning to his native town of Gyumish-Khané; and 
we had scarcely passed them when he appeared in sight, met, 
and passed us. I wished to examine the curious old churches 
which still bear witness that Varzahan, notwithstanding its 
present decayed condition, must formerly have been a place of 
some importance. Our Armenian fellow-traveller offered to 
conduct me, and I was glad to avail myself of his guidance. 
After I had examined the strange construction of the churches, 
the Armenian inscriptions cut here and there on their walls, 
and the tombstones which surrounded them (amongst which 
were several carved in the form of a sheep), my companion 
suggested that we should try to obtain some refreshment. 
Although I was anxious to overtake our caravan, I yielded to 
his importunity, and followed him into a large and dimly-lighted 
room, to which we only obtained admission after prolonged 
knocking. The door was at length opened by an old man, with 
whom my companion conversed for a while in Armenian, after 
he had bidden me to be seated. Presently several other men, all 
armed to the teeth, entered the room, and seated themselves by 
the door. A considerable time elapsed, and still no signs of food 
appeared. The annoyance which I felt at this useless delay gradu- 
ally gave way to a vague feeling of alarm. This was heightened 
by the fact that I was unable to comprehend the drift of the 
conversation, which was still carried on in Armenian. I began 
to wonder whether I had been enticed into a trap where I could 
be robbed at leisure, and to speculate on the chances of escape 
ot fesistance, in case such an attempt should be made. I could 
not but feel that these were slender, for I had no weapon except 
a small pocket revolver; five or six armed men sat by the heavy 


THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 33 


wooden door, which had been closed, and, for anything that I 
knew, bolted; and even should I succeed in effecting an exit, I 
knew that our caravan must have proceeded a considerable 
distance. My apprehensions were, however, relieved by the 
appearance of a bowl of yoghart (curds) and a quantity of the 
insipid wafer-like bread called awash. Having eaten, we rose to 
go; and when my companion, whom I had suspected of harbour- 
ing such sinister designs against my property and perhaps my 
life, refused to let me pay for our refreshment, I was filled with 
shame at my unwarranted suspicions. On emerging once more 
into the road I found the faithful ‘Ali patiently awaiting me. 
Perhaps he too had been doubtful of the honesty of the Armenian 
villagers. At any rate he had refused to proceed without me. 

About 2 p.m. we arrived at the town of Baiburt, and found 
that H——and the muleteers had already taken up their quarters 
at a clean and well-built k/én owned by one Khalil Efendi. We 
at once proceeded to explore the town, which lies at the foot of 
a hill surmounted by an old fortress. Being too lazy to climb this 
hill, we contented ourselves with strolling through the bazaars 
_ which form so important a feature of every Eastern town, and 
afford so sure an index of the degree of prosperity which it 
enjoys. We were accompanied by the indefatigable Armenian, 
who, thinking to give me pleasure, exerted himself to collect 
a ctowd of Persians (mostly natives of Khuy and Tabriz), whom 
he incited to converse with me. A throng of idlers soon gathered 
round us to gaze and gape at our unfamiliar aspect and dress, 
which some, bolder or less polite than the rest, stretched out their 
hands to finger and feel. Anxious to escape, I took refuge in a 
barber’s shop and demanded a shave, but the crowd again 
assembled outside the open window, and continued to watch the 
proceeding with sustained interest. Meanwhile ‘Ali had not been 
idle, and on our return to the khdn we enjoyed better fare, as well 
as better quarters, than had fallen to our lot since we left Trebi- 
zonde. 

B 3 


34 FROM ENGLAND TO 


Our sixth day’s march commenced soon after daybreak. The 
eatly morning was chilly, but later on the sun shone forth in a 
cloudless sky, and the day grew hot. The first part of our way 
lay near the river which flows through Baiburt, and the scenery _ 
was a gteat improvement on anything that we had seen since 
leaving Gyumish-Khané. We halted for our midday rest and 
_ refreshment by a clump of willow trees in a pleasant grassy 
meadow by the tiver. On resuming our march we entered a 
nattow defile leading into the mountains of Kopdagh. A gradual 
ascent brought us to the summit of the pass, just below which, 
on the farther side, we came to out halting-place, Pasha-punari. 
The view of the surrounding mountains standing out against 
the clear evening sky was very beautiful, and the little kbdu at 
which we alighted was worthy of its delightful situation. We 
wete lodged in a sort of barn, in which was stored a quantity 
of hay. How fragrant and soft it seemed! I still think of that 
night’s sleep as one of the soundest and sweetest in my experience. 

Early on the morning of the seventh day we resumed our 
march along a circuitous road, which, after winding downwards 
amongst grassy hills, followed the course of a river surrounded 
by stunted trees. We saw numerous large birds of the falcon 
kind, called by the Turks doghdn. One of these H—— brought 
down with his rifle while it was hovering in the air, to the great 
delight of the muleteers. At a village called Ash-Kal‘a we pur- 
chased honey, bread, and grapes, which we consumed while 
halting for the midday rest by an old bridge. Continuing on our 
way by the river, we were presently joined by a turbaned and 
genial Turk, who was travelling on horseback from Gyumish- 
Khané to Erzeroum. I was pleased to hear him use in the course 
of conversation certain words which I had hitherto only met 
with in the writings of the old poet Fuztli of Baghdad, and 
which I had regarded as archaic and obsolete. The road gradually 
became more frequented than it had been since leaving Baiburt, 
and we passed numerous travellers and peasants. Many of the 


THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 35 


latter drove bullock-carts, of which the ungreased axles sent forth 
the most excruciating sound. The sun had set before we reached 
our halting-place, Yeni-Khan, and so full was it that we had some 
difficulty in securing a toom to ourselves. 

The eighth day of our march, which was to conclude the first 
portion of our journey, saw us in the saddle betimes. After riding 
for four hours through a scorched-up plain, we arrived about 
10.30 a.m. at the large village of Ilija, so named from its hot 
springs, over which a bath has been erected. From this point 
the gardens and minarets of Erzeroum were plainly visible, and 
accordingly we pushed on without halting. Fully three hours 
elapsed, however, ere we had ttaversed the weaty stretch of 
white dusty road which still separated us from our goal; and the 
sun was well past the meridian when we finally entered the gate 
of the city, and threaded our way through the massive fortifica- 
tions by which it is surrounded. 

Erzeroum has one hotel, which stands midway i in the scale of 
development between the Hétel d’Italie at Trebizonde and an 
average catavansaray. Were these two towns connected by a 
_ tailroad, so as to bring them within a day’s journey of one 
another, this institution might perhaps form a happy transition 
between the West and the East. As things are at present, it is 
too much like a caravansaray to be comfortable, and too much 
like a casino to be quiet. 

On alighting at this delectable house of entertainment, we 
wete met by a young Armenian representing the bank on which 
our cheque was drawn, who informed us in very fair French 
that his name was Missak Vanétzian, and that his principal, Simon 
Detrmounukian, had been apprised of our coming by letter from 
Trebizonde, and instructed to give us such help as we might need. 
After a brief conversation in the balcony of a coffee-room 
thronged with Turkish officers and enlivened by the strains of 
a semi-Oriental band, he departed, inviting us to visit his chief 
SO soon as we were at leisure. 


36 FROM ENGLAND TO 


We now requested an attendant to show us our room, and 
were forthwith conducted to a large, dingy, uncarpeted apatt- 
ment on the first floor, lighted by several windows looking out 
upon the street, and containing for its sole furniture a divan 
coveted with faded chintz, which ran the whole length of one 
side, and a washing-stand placed in a curtained recess on the 
other. It was already occupied by a Turkish mwudir, bound for 
the frontier fortress of Bayezid, whom the landlord was trying 
to dislodge so that we might take possession. This he very 
naturally resented; but when I apologised, and offered to with- 
draw, he was at once mollified, declared that there was plenty 
of room for all of us, and politely retired, leaving us to perform 
our ablutions in private. 

Just as we were ready to go out, an officer of the Turkish 
police called to inspect our passports, so, while H went to 
visit Mr Devey, the acting British Consul, I remained to enter- 
tain the visitor with coffee and cigarettes—an attention which 
he seemed to appreciate, for he readily gave the required vzsa, 
and then sat conversing with me till H—— returned from the 
consulate. We next paid a visit to our banker, Simon Dermounu- 
kian, called by the Turks “Simin Agh4,” a fine-looking old 
man, who only spoke Turkish and Armenian, and whose ap- 
pearance would have led one to suppose that the former rather 
than the latter was his native tongue. After the ordinary inter- 
change of civilities, we drew a cheque for three or four pounds, 
and returned to the hotel to settle with the muleteers. On the 
way to Erzeroum these had frequently expressed a wish to go 
with us as far as Teheran; but since their arrival they had been 
so alarmed by fabulous accounts of the dangers of travelling in 
Persia, the inhospitality of the country, and the malignant dis- 
position of the people, that they made no further allusion to this 
plan, and on receiving the money due to them, together with a 
small gratuity, took leave of us with expressions of gratitude and 
esteem. 





THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 37 


After a thoroughly Turkish dinner, I again proposed to go 
out, but the wadir told me that this was impossible, as the streets 
were not lighted, and no one was allowed to walk abroad after 
nightfall without a lantern. He offered, however, to introduce 
me to some acquaintances of his who occupied an adjoining room. 
One of these was a Turk who spoke Persian with a fluency and 
cottectness rarely attained by his countrymen; the other was a 
Christian of Cesarea. Both were men of intelligence, and their 
conversation interested me so much that it was late before I 
retired to rest on the chintz-covered divan, which I would gladly 
have exchanged for the fragrant hay of Pasha-punari. 

Next day our troubles began. The news that two Englishmen 
were about to start for Persia had got abroad, and crowds of 
muleteers—Persians, Turks, and Armenians—came to offer their 
services for the journey. The scene of turmoil which our room 
presented during the whole morning baffles description, while 
our eats were deafened with the clamour of voices. It was like 
the noisiest bazaar imaginable, with this difference, that whereas 
one can escape from the din of a bazaar when it becomes in- 
supportable, this turmoil followed us wherever we went. An 
Armenian called Vartan demanded the exorbitant sum of £5 T. 
per horse to Tabriz. A Persian offered to convey us thither in 
a mighty waggon which he possessed, wherein, he declared, we 
should perform the journey with inconceivable ease. This state- 
ment, which I was from the first but little disposed to credit, 
was subsequently denied in the most categorical manner by our 
friend the mudir, who assured me that he had once essayed to 
travel in such a vehicle, but had been so roughly jolted during 
the first stage that he had sworn never again-to set foot in it, 
and had completed his journey on horseback. Any lingering 
regrets which we might have entertained at having renounced 
the prospect of “inconceivable ease” held out to us by the 
owner of the waggon were entirely dispelled some days later 
by the sight of a similar vehicle hopelessly stuck, and abandoned 


38 FROM ENGLAND TO 


by its possessor, in the middle of a river which we had: to 
ford. 

At length, partly because no better offer seemed forthcoming, 
partly from a desire to have done with the matter and enjoy a 
little peace and quietude for the remainder of our stay in Erze- 
toum, we accepted the terms proposed by a Persian muleteer 
called Farach, who promised to supply us with five horses to 
Tabriz at £2 T. and 2 mejidiyyés a head; to convey us thither in 
twelve days; and to allow us the right of stopping for two days 
on the road at whatever place we might choose. 

I now flattered myself that I should be allowed a little peace, 
but I found that I had reckoned without my host. No sooner 
had I satisfied myself as to the efficiency of Farach’s animals, 
agreed to the terms proposed by him, and accepted the peh (a 
pledge of money, which it is customary for the muleteer to place 
in the hands of his client as a guarantee that he will hold to the 
bargain, and be prepared to start on the appointed day), than our 
eats wete assailed on all sides with aspersions on the honesty 
and respectability of the successful candidate. Farach, so I was 
assuted, was a native of the village of Seyvan, near Khuy, and 
the Seyvanlis were, as was well known, the wickedest, most 
faithless, and most dishonest people in Persia. In this assertion 
all the muleteers present agreed, the only difference being that 
while the Persians rested content with the reprobation of the 
Seyvanlis, the non-Persians further emphasised it by adding that 
the Persians were the wickedest, most faithless, and most dis- 
honest people in the world. 

At first I paid no attention to these statements, but my sus- 
picions were in some degree aroused by Farach’s disinclination 
to go before the Persian Consul, and by the doubts expressed 
by Vanétzian and Simuin Agha as to his honesty and trustworthi- 
ness. With Vanétzian I was somewhat annoyed, because he, 
being present when I engaged Farach, had withheld his advice 
till it was too late to be useful. I therefore told him that he should 


THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 39 


either have spoken sooner or not at all, to which he replied that 
it was still possible to rescind the bargain. Farach was accordingly 
summoned and requested to take back his pledge. This, however, 
he resolutely declined to do, and I could not help admitting that 
he was in the right. 

Finally Vanétzian desisted from his attempts to annul the con- 
tract, and indeed retracted to some extent the objections which he 
had raised against it. What motive impelled him to this change of 
front I cannot say, and I am unwilling to credit an assertion made 
to me by Farach a few days later, to the effect that the Armenian’s 
sole object in these manceuvtes was to extort a bribe from the 
poot muleteer, and that having obtained this he was content to 
withdraw all opposition. 

Although these annoyances, combined with a temporary in- 
disposition (due, probably, to the badness of the water-supply), 
somewhat marred the pleasure of our stay in Erzeroum, the 
kindness shown us by Mr Devey, the British Consul, and Mr 
Chambers, an American missionary, and his wife, rendered it 
much mote agreeable than it would otherwise have been. Before 
leaving we paid a visit to the Persian Consul, who teceived us 
vety courteously, and gave us a letter to Pasha Khan of Avajik, 
the Persian Warden of the Marches, from whom, he added, we 
should receive an escort to conduct us to Khuy, should this be 
necessary. Beyond Khuy the country was perfectly safe, and no 
such protection would be required. 

The consul next enquired whether we were travelling with 
out own hotses ot with hired animals, and, on learning that the 
latter was the case, insisted on summoning the muleteer to 
“admonish” him. Knowing that Farach was unwilling to appear 
before the consul, I ventured to deprecate this proceeding, and 
made as though I had forgotten the muleteetr’s name. The consul, 
however, insisted, and at once despatched some of his servants 
to make enquiries. These returned in a surprisingly short space 
of time, bringing with them the muleteer, whose appearance 


40 FROM ENGLAND TO 


indicated the utmost disquietude. After demanding his name 
and that of his native place, the consul asked him whether it was 
true that he had promised to convey us to Tabriz in twelve days, 
and whether, if so, he had any intention of keeping this promise. 
To these questions the muleteer replied in a voice trembling with 
fear, that “perhaps, In-sha’Udh, he would do so.” This statement 
was teceived by the consul with derision. “You lie, Mr Per- 
haps,” cried he; “‘you eat dirt, Mr In-sha’/ldh; hence, rascal, and 
be assured that if I hear any complaints about you, you shall give 
a full account of your conduct to me on your return to Erze- 
roum!”’ Whether in consequence of this “‘admonition,” or 
whether, as I believe, because the muleteer was really an honest 
fellow, we certainly had no cause for complaint, and, indeed, 
wete glad to re-engage Farach at Tabriz for the journey to 
Teheran. 

On Monday, 17th October, we quitted Erzeroum. In con- 
sequence of the difficulty of getting fairly under way, to which 
I have already alluded, it is usual to make the first stage a very 
short one. Indeed, it is often merely what the Persians call 
“Nakl-i-makdn” (change of place), a breaking up of one’s 
quarters, a bidding farewell to one’s friends, and a shaking one’s 
self free from the innumerable delays which continue to arise 
so long as one is still within the walls of an Eastern town. We 
therefore did not expect to get farther than Hasan-Kal‘a, which 
is about three hours’ ride from Erzeroum. Before we had 
finished our leave-taking and settled the hotel bill (which only 
reached the modest sum of 108 piastres—about {1 sterling— 
for the two of us and ‘Ali for three days) the rest of the caravan 
had disappeared, and it was only on emerging from the town that 
I was able to take note of those who composed it. There were, 
besides the muleteers, our friend the mudir and his companions 
and servants, who were bound for Bayezid; a Turkish zabtiyyé, 
who was to escort us as far as Hasan-Kal‘a; and three Persians 
proceeding to Tabriz. Of these last, one was a decrepit old man; 


THE PERSIAN FRONTIER AI 


the other two were his sons. In spite of the somewhat ludicrous 
appeatance given to the old man by a long white beard of which 
the lower half was dyed red with henna, the cause which had led 
him to undertake so long a journey in spite of his advanced age 
commanded respect and sympathy. His two sons had gone to 
Trebizonde for purposes of trade, and had there settled; and 
although he had written to them repeatedly entreating them to 
return to Tabriz, they had declined to comply with his wishes, 
until eventually he had determined to go himself, and, if possible, 
persuade them to return home with him. In this attempt he had 
met with the success which he so well deserved. 

As we advanced towards the low pass of Devé-boyun (the 
Camel’s Neck), over which our road lay, I was much impressed 
with the mighty redoubts which crown the heights to the north- 
east and east of Erzeroum, many of which have, I believe, been 
erected since the Russian war. Beyond these, and such in- 
struction and amusement as I could derive from our travelling 
companions, there was little to break the monotony of the road 
till we arrived at our halting-place about 3 p.m. As the khan was 
full, we were obliged to be content with quarters even less 
luxurious; and even there the mwudir, with prudent forethought, 
secuted the best room for himself and his companions. 

Hasan-Kal‘a is, like Ilija, which is about equidistant from 
Erzeroum on the other side, remarkable for its natural hot- 
springs, over which a bath has been erected. The mudir was 
anxious to visit these springs, and invited us to accompany 
him. To this I agreed, but H , not feeling well, preferred to 
remain quiet. The bath consists of a circular basin, twenty-five 
ot thirty feet in diameter, surrounded with masonry and roofed 
in by a dome. In the summit of the dome was a large aperture 
through which we could see the stars shining. The water, which 
is almost as hot as one can bear with comfort, bubbles up from 
the centre of the basin, and is everywhere out of one’s depth. 
After a most refreshing bathe, we returned to our quarters. 





or FROM ENGLAND TO 


Next day we started about 6 a.m., and were presently joined 
by a Turkish wuft/ proceeding to Bayezid, with whom I conversed 
for some time in Persian, which he spoke very incorrectly and 
with great effort. He was, however, an amusing companion, 
and his conversation beguiled the time pleasantly enough till we 
halted about midday at a large squalid Armenian village called 
-Kimastr. Our Turkish fellow-travellers occupied the musdfir- 
dda, ot guest-room, and intimated to us that they wished to be 
left undisturbed for their midday devotions, so we wete com- 
pelled to be content with a stable. As the rest of the caravan had 
not yet come up, we had nothing for lunch but a few biscuits 
and a little brandy and water, which we fortunately had with us. 
Several of the Armenian villagers came to see us. They were 
apathetic and dull, presenting a sad contrast to the Armenians 
of the towns. They talked much of their grievances, especially 
of the rapacity of the multezim, or tax-gatherer, of the district, 
who had, as they declared, mortally wounded one of the villagers 
a few days previously, because he had brought eight piastres 
short of the sum due from him. They said that the heaviest tax 
was on cereals, amounting to 1 in 8 of their total value, and that 
for the privilege of collecting this the tax-gatherer paid a 
cettain fixed sum to the Government and made what profit he 
could. 

Quitting this unhappy spot as soon as the test of our caravan 
appeared, we again joined the mudir’s patty, which had been 
further reinforced by a chdwish (sergeant) and two zabfiyyés, one 
of whom kept breaking out into snatches of song in the shrillest 
voice I ever heard. For some time we succeeded in keeping up 
with these, who were advancing at a pace impossible for the 
baggage animals, but presently our horses began to flag, and we 
were finally left behind, in some doubt as to the road which we 
should follow. Shortly after this, my horse, in going down a hill 
to a river, fell violently and threw me on my face. I picked 
myself up and remounted, but having proceeded some distance, 


THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 43 


discovered that my watch was gone, having probably been torn 
out of my pocket when I fell. We rode back and sought diligently 
for it, but without success; and while we were still so occupied, 
Farach the muleteer came up with “Ali. These joined us in 
the fruitless attempt to find the lost watch, the former attributing 
my misfortune to the inconsiderate haste of the maxdir, the latter 
attempting to console me with the philosophical reflection that 
- some evil had evidently been destined to befall me, and that 
the loss of the watch had probably averted a more serious 
catastrophe. At length the near approach of the sun to the 
horizon watned us that we must tarry no longer; and though we 
made as much haste as possible, it was dark before we reached 
the village of Deli Baba. 

Here we obtained lodgings in a large stable, at one side of 
which was a wooden platform, raised some two feet above the 
eround and covered with a felt carpet. On this our host spread 
cushions and pillows, but the hopes of a comfortable night’s rest 
which these preparations raised in our minds were not destined 
to be fulfilled, for the stable was full of fowls, and the fowls 
swatmed with fleas. There were also several buffaloes in the 
stable, and these apparently were endowed with carnivorous 
instincts, for during the night they ate up some cold meat which 
was to have served us for breakfast. At this place I tasted 
buffalo’s milk for the first time. It is very rich, but has a peculiar 
flavour, which is, to my mind, very disagreeable. 

On starting the next day, we found that the mudir, who had 
obtained quarters elsewhere in the village, had already set out; 
neither did we again overtake him. Soon after leaving our 
halting-place we entered a magnificent defile leading into the 
mountains and surrounded by precipitous crags. On the summit 
of one of these crags which lay to our left was a ruined castle, 
said to have been formerly a stronghold of the celebrated bandit- 
minstrel, Kurroghlu. The face of the rock showed numerous 
cave-like apertures, apparently enlarged, if not made, by the 


44 FROM ENGLAND TO 


hand of man, and possibly communicating with the interior of 
the castle. 

About noon we reached a Kurdish village, situated amidst 
grassy uplands at the summit of the pass, and here we halted 
for a test. Most of the male inhabitants were out on the hills 
looking after their flocks, but the women gathered round us 
staring, laughing, and chattering Kurdish. Some few of them 
knew a little Turkish, and asked us if we had any munjas to give 
them. This word, which I did not understand, appeared to denote 
some kind of ornament. 

On quitting this village our way led us through fertile uplands 
covered thinly with low shrubs, on which hundreds of draught 
camels wete feeding. The bales of merchandise, unladen from 
their backs, were piled up in hollow squares, in and around which 
the Persian camel-drivers were resting till such time as the 
setting of the sun (for camels rarely travel by day) should give 
the signal for departure. 

A little farther on we passed one of the battlefields of the 
Russian war, and were shown an eatthwork close to the road, 
where we were told that Farik Pasha had been killed. Soon after 
this, on rounding a corner, the mighty snow-crowned cone of 
Mount Ararat burst upon our view across a wide hill-girt plain, 
into which we now began to descend. During this descent we 
came upon a patty of Kurdish mountebanks, surrounded by a 
crowd of peasants. In the midst of the group a little girl, in a 
bright red dress, was performing a dance on stilts, to the sound 
of wild music, produced by a drum and a flute. It was a pretty 
sight, and one which I would fain have watched for a time; but 
the muleteers were anxious to teach the end of our day’s journey, 
and indeed it was already dusk when we arrived at the village 
of Zeyti-Kyan. The inhabitants of this place were, as we entered 
it, engaged in a violent altercation, the cause of which I did not 
ascertain; while a few Turkish zabtyyés were making strenuous 
efforts to disperse them, in which they eventually succeeded. It 


THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 4s 


was only after ‘Alf had been to half the houses in the village that 
he succeeded in obtaining a lodging for us in the house of a poor 
Armenian family, who wete content to share with us their only 
room. As usual, no sort of privacy was possible, numbers of 
people coming in to stare at us, question us, and watch us eat. 

Next day’s march was both short and uninteresting. At 2 p.m. 
we reached the large squalid village of Kara Kilisa. As the day 
was still young, and the place far from attractive, we were anxious 
to proceed farther, but this the muleteers declined to do, answer- 
ing, after the manner of their class, that they had agreed to take 
us to Tabriz in twelve days from Erzeroum, and that this they 
would do; but that for the rest we must allow them to arrange 
the stages as they thought fit. Farach concluded the argument 
by making me a propitiatory gift of a melon, which he had just 
received from a fellow-countryman whom he had met on the 
toad; and, half amused, half annoyed, I was obliged to acquiesce 
in his arrangement. 

We obtained wretched quarters in the house of a very ill- 
favoured and inquisitive Armenian, and, after allaying our ill- 
humour with tea, strolled through the village to see the yuz-bdshi, 
ot captain of the police, about securing a zabtiyyé as an escort for 
the morrow. From him we learned that our friend the mudir 
had not forgotten us, for on his way through the village that 
morning he had left instructions that we were to be provided 
with a zabtiyyé, should we require one. The dustiness of the 
streets, combined with the inquisitiveness of the inhabitants, 
soon drove us back to our lodging, where a night disturbed by 
innumerable fleas concluded a miserable day. 

In spite of our desire to quit so unattractive a spot, we did 
not start till 7.45 a.m. (a much later hour than usual), partly 
because we knew that the stage before us was a short one, and 
had no treason to anticipate better quarters at the end of it than 
those we wete leaving; partly because “Ali’s whip had disappeared, 
and could not be found till our host was informed that no money 


46 FROM ENGLAND TO 


would be paid him until it was forthcoming; whereupon it was 
speedily produced. We wete accompanied by a fine old Armenian 
rabtiyyé, who presented a thoroughly soldierly, as well as a very 
picturesque, appearance. The scenery through which we passed 
reminded me more of England or Scotland than anything which 
I had seen since leaving home. Close to the road ran a beautiful 
_ Clear river, rippling down over its stony bed to join the Western 
Euphrates. On either side of this lay undulating grassy hills, 
beyond which appeared in the distance more lofty mountains. 
The warm, cloudy day, too, and the thin mists which lay on the 
hills, favoured the fancy that we were back once more in our 
native land. 

About 1 p.m. we reached our halting-place, Tashli-Chay, and 
found lodgings in a gloomy hovel, which served the double 
purpose of a resting-place for guests and a stable for buffaloes. 
The people, however, were better than the place. Our host was 
an old Persian with henna-dyed beard and nails, who manifested 
his good feeling towards us by plunging his hand, with an intro- 
ductory “Bismi’/dh,” into the dish of poached eggs which was 
set before us for luncheon. His son, a bright handsome lad of 
sixteen or seventeen, made every effort to enliven us, and, on 
my enquiring whether there were any fish in the river, offered to 
conduct us thither, and show us not only where they were, but 
how to catch them. Having collected several other youths, he 
commenced operations by constructing a dam of stones and turf 
half across the river, at a point where it was divided into two 
branches by a bed of shingle. The effect of this was to direct the 
bulk of the water into the left-hand channel, while the depth 
of that which remained in the right-hand channel (at the lower 
end of which a boy was stationed to beat the water with a stick, 
and so prevent the imprisoned fish from effecting their escape) 
sunk to a few inches. Having completed these preparations, the 
operators entered the water with sticks in their hands, struck at 
the fish as they darted past, thereby killing or stunning them, and 


THE PERSIAN FRONTIER AT 


then picked them up and tossed them on to the bank. One lad had 
a sort of gaff wherewith he hooked the fish very dexterously. In 
less than an hour we had nearly fifty fish, several of which must 
have weighed 24 or 3 lbs. Some of these we ate for supper; 
others we gave to the muleteers and to our fellow-travellers. They 
were not unpalatable, and made a pleasing change from the fowls 
and eggs of which our fare had so long consisted. 

Although our lodging was not much superior, in point of 
cleanliness and comfort, to that of the preceding night, it was 
with something like regret that I bade farewell to the kindly 
folk of, Tashli-Chay. Farach had started on in front with the 
baggage, leaving his brother Feyzu’llah, of whom we had hitherto 
seen but little, to bear us company. This Feyzu’llah was a smooth- 
faced, narrow-eyed, smug-looking, sturdy rascal, whose face wore 
a perpetual and intolerable grin, and whose head was concealed 
rather than crowned by the large, low, conical, long-haired 
papdk, which constitutes the usual head-dress of the peasants 
inhabiting that region which lies just beyond the Turco-Persian 
frontier. We were also accompanied by a Turkish zabsiyyé, who 
_ proved to be unusually intelligent; for when we .were come 
opposite to the village of Uch-Kilisé, which lies on the farther 
side of the river, he told us that there was an old Armenian church 
there which was worth looking at, and that we should by no 
means neglect to pay our respects to an aged Armenian ecclesi- 
astic, entitled by him the “‘Murakbkhas Efendi,’ who, as he 
assured us, enjoyed such influence in the neighbourhood that, 
were he to give the command, a hundred men would escort us to 
Tabriz. 

We therefore turned aside from our course (to the infinite 
disgust of Feyzu’lla4h, whose only desire was to reach the end 
of the stage as soon as possible), and first proceeded to the 
church. This was a fine old building, but it had suffered at the 
hands of the Kurds during the Russian war, and the beautiful 
designs and paintings with which it had before that time been 


48 FROM ENGLAND TO 


adorned had for the most part been destroyed by fire. Leaving 
the church, we passed the house and mill of the “ Murakbkbas 
Efendi,” who, on hearing of our approach, came out to meet us, 
and begged us to enter his house and partake of some refreshment. 
The opposition offered by Feyzu’llah to any further delay com- 
pelled us to decline his hospitality; yet would he scarcely take 
nay for an answer, saying that he was ashamed to let strangers 
pass by without alighting at his house. Finally, seeing that we 
were firm in our resolve, he bade us farewell with the words, “‘I 
pray Almighty God that He will bring you in safety to Tabriz.” 

It was with a sense of comfort and encouragement that we 
parted from the venerable and reverend old man; but this feeling 
was presently changed to one of indignation against Feyzu’llah, 
who had urged the length of the stage as a reason for hastening 
on, when, not much after 1.30 p.m., we arrived at the wretched 
town of Diyadin, where we were to sleep for the last time on 
Turkish territory. A more desolate spot I do not think I have 
ever seen; the dirty, dusty town, which scarcely contains two 
respectable houses, stands in a barren, treeless waste, and is half 
encompassed by a vast crescent-shaped chasm with precipitous 
sides. Heaps of refuse lie about in all directions, both before the 
doots of the miserable hovels which compose the town, and 
amongst the graves of the extensive and neglected cemetery 
which surrounds it. Of the two respectable houses which I have 
noticed, one belongs to the governor, the other is the post-office. 
To the latter we paid a visit, and conversed for a while with the 
postmaster and telegraph-clerk (for both functions were united 
in one individual), who was a Turk of Adrianople. He complained 
bitterly of the dullness of Diyadin, where he had been for two 
years, and to which a marriage contracted with a Kurdish girl 
had failed to reconcile him. On returning to our lodging we 
found that the aperture in the roof which did duty for window 
and chimney alike admitted so much wind and dust that we were 
compelled to cover it with sacking; while to add to our miseries 


THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 49 


we discovered that all our candles were used up. Having eaten 
our supper by the dim light of a little earthenware lamp, we had 
therefore no resource but to seek forgetfulness of our discomforts 
in sleep. 

Next morning (23rd October), the seventh day of our departure 
from Erzeroum, we wete in the saddle by 6 a.m. My spirits were 
high, for I knew that before sunset we should enter the land 
which I had so long and so eagerly desired to behold. The 
xabtiyyé who accompanied us (remarkable for an enormous 
hooked nose) took pains to impress upon us the necessity of 
keeping well together, as there was some danger of robbers. 
Presently, on rounding a corner, a glorious view burst upon us. 
Ararat (which had been hidden from us by lower hills since we 
fitst saw it from the heights above Zeyti-Ky4an) lay far to the left, 
its snowy summit veiled in clouds, which, however, left uncon- 
cealed the lower peak of little Ararat. Before us, at the end of 
the valley, perched midway up the face of a steep, rocky moun- 
tain, lay the town and fortress of Bayezid, which keeps solitary 
watch over the north-east frontier of the Turkish Empire. This 
_ we did but see afar off, for, while two or three hours’ march still 
separated us from it, we turned sharply to the right into the 
valley leading to Kizil-Dizé, the last village on Turkish soil. At 
this point we left the telegraph wires, which had, since our de- 
parture from Trebizonde, kept us company and indicated the 
course of our road. 

Soon after mid-day we teached Kizil-Dizé, and, leaving our 
baggage in the custom-house, betook ourselves for rest and 
refreshment to a large and commodious k/dn. ‘The custom-house 
officials gave us no trouble; but as soon as we were again on the 
road Farach informed us, with many lamentations, that they had 
exacted from him a sum of forty-five piastres, alleging, as a 
pretext for this extortion, that whereas he had brought seven 
horses with him on his last journey into Turkey, he was returning 
with only five; that they suspected him of having sold the two 

B 4 


50 THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 


missing horses in Turkish territory; and that they should there- 
fore exact from him the duty payable on animals imported into 
the country for purposes of commerce. It was in vain that 
Farach protested that the two horses in question had died on the 
road, for they demanded documentary proof of this assertion, 
which he was unable to produce. And, indeed, to me it seemed 
an absurd thing to expect a certificate of death for an animal 
which had perished in the mountains of Asia Minor. 

The hook-nosed veteran who had accompanied us from 
Diyadin had yielded place to a fresh zabsiyyé, who rode silently 
before us for two hours, during which we continued to ascend 
gradually through wild but monotonous hills, till, on reaching 
a slight eminence over which the road passed, he reined in his 
horse, and, turning in his saddle, said, ‘Farther I cannot go with 
you, for this is our frontier, and yonder before you lies the Persian 
land.” 








CHAPTER III 


FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 


“Ché khush bashad ki ba‘d ax intizari 


Bi-ummidi rasad ummidvari!” 
“How good it is when one with waiting tired 
Obtaineth that which he hath long desired!” 
(Sa‘di.) 
“ Kunj-i-“uzlat, ki tilismat-i-“ajd’ib darad, 
Fat-h-t-dn dar nazar-i-himmat-t-darvishdn-ast.” 
“The talisman of magic might, hid in some ruin’s lonely site, 
Emerges from its ancient night at the mild glance of dervishes.”’ 
(Hafiz, rendered by Herman Bicknell.) 


HER Eis always a pleasant sense of excitement and expecta- 

tion in entering for the first time a foreign country. Especi- 
ally is this the case when to visit that country has long been the 
object of one’s ambition. Yet that which most sharply marks 
such a transition, and most forcibly reminds the traveller that he 
is amongst another race—I mean a change of language—is not 
observable by one who enters Persia from the north-west; for 
the inhabitants of the province of Adharbayj4n, which forms this 
portion of the Persian Empire, uniformly employ a dialect of 
Turkish, which, though differing widely from the speech of the 
Ottoman Turks, is not so far removed from it as to render either 
language unintelligible to those who speak the other. If, amongst 
the better classes in the towns of Adharbdyjan, and here and there 
in the villages, the Persian language is understood or spoken, it 
is as a foreign tongue acquired by study or travel; while the 
narrow, affected enunciation of the vowels, so different from the 
bold, broad pronunciation of Persia proper, and the introduction 
of the Y-sound after K and G, at once serve to mark the province 

4-2 


52 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 


to which the speaker belongs. It is not till Kazvin is reached, 
and only four or five stages separate the traveller from Teheran, 
that the Persian distinctly predominates over the Turkish lan- 
guage; while even four stages south of the capital, as far as the 
sacted city of Kum, the latter is still generally understood. 

The country immediately beyond the frontier was as desolate 
and devoid of cultivation as that which we had just quitted, and 
it was not until we reached the Persian frontier-village of Avajik 
that we had any oppottunity of observing that change of costume 
which constitutes the other great sign of entry amongst a new 
race. Indeed the approach of night, which overtook us ere we 
reached our destination, prevented us even then from getting 
more than a very partial idea of the differences which distinguish 
a Persian froma Turkish village. So far as we could see, however, 
the change was distinctly for the better; the square houses, built 
of unbaked clay, were clean and commodious, while a goodly 
attay of poplar trees gave to the place an appearance of verdure 
which contrasted pleasantly with our too vivid recollections of 
the hideous waste of Diyadin. 

Immediately on our arrival we sent our letter of introduction, 
which had been given to us by the Persian Consul at Erzeroum, 
to Pasha Khan, the sar-hadd-ddr, or Warden of the Marches, 
intending to pay our respects to him in the morning before our 
departure. While we were eating our supper, however, a message 
came from him to say that he would, if we pleased, receive us at 
once, as he was in the habit of rising late. As this invitation was 
practically equivalent to a command, we hastened, in spite of our 
weariness and disinclination to move, to respond to it, and were 
presently ushered by our host, who was one of the great man’s 
retainers, into the presence of Pasha Khan, having previously 
removed our boots on an intimation from the farrdshes who stood 
at the door of the presence-chamber. We were invited to seat 
ourselves on the floor opposite the frontier-chief, who sat in 
a corner of the room, on the side next the door, reclining on 


FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 53 


cushions. On one side of him was seated his vaz/r, on the other 
a gtim-looking secretary, whose face was adorned with a pair 
of fierce moustaches, and whose hand still held the letter of 
introduction which he had been reading to Pasha Khan. The 
Warden of the Marches conversed with me for a short time, in 
a somewhat fitful manner, in Persian, enquiring particularly 
about the terms on which England stood with Russia. Seeing, 
however, that he was disinclined to prolong the interview, and 
that he appeared moody and preoccupied (a fact due, as we sub- 
sequently learned, to a quarrel which had arisen between him and 
his brother), we were preparing to take our leave when several 
setvants entered bearing trays of pildw and sherbet, of which, 
though we had already supped, we were compelled by politeness 
to pattake. The sherbet was excellent, as was also the pi/dy (con- 
sisting of pieces of lamb’s flesh buried in rice), which we had 
to eat, awkwardly enough, with our hands. This accomplishment, 
which, in spite of assiduous efforts, I never succeeded in tho- 
roughly acquiring, is far from being so easy as might at first sight 
_ appear. The rice is pressed by the four fingers into a wedge- 
‘shaped bolus, which is then thrust into the mouth by an upward 
motion of the terminal joint of the thumb, placed behind it. 
Any grains of rice which remain clinging to the fingers must then 
be collected by a semi-circular sweep of the thumb into another 
smaller bolus, which is eaten before a fresh handful of rice is 
taken up. It is wonderful what dexterity the Persians acquire 
in this method of eating, which is indeed far more cleanly and 
convenient than might be supposed. To the foreigner, however, 
it is hardly less difficult of acquisition than the Persian manner 
of sitting on the heels; and if, on this our first attempt, we did 
not meet with the ridicule of our entertainers, it was rather from 
their politeness than from any dexterity on our part. On the 
conclusion of the meal we took our leave, Pasha Khan ordering 
our host in his capacity of farrdsh to accompany us on our 
journey as far as Kara Ayné. For this we were very grateful, not 


54 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 


so much because we hoped for any advantage from our escotft, 
as because we had feared that it might be larger; for a large escort 
naturally involves considerable expense. 

Next day (24th October) we started a little before 8 a.m., 
and we wete now able to contrast the appearance of the numerous 
villages through which we passed with those on the Turkish side 
of the frontier. The comparison was certainly very much to the 
advantage of Persia. The houses, surrounded by gardens of 
poplars, wete neater, cleaner, and better built than is usual in 
Turkey; while nearly every village contained at least one house 
of considerable size. The change in the costume of the people 
was equally striking: the fez had entirely disappeared, and its 
place was taken either by the thickly-lined, close-fitting skull-cap 
of cloth trimmed with black wool, which is called “‘shikari,” or 
by the hideous long-haired papdk of black or brown colour which 
I have already noticed as constituting the head-dress of our 
muleteets. 

Before we had gone very far we wete overtaken by two more 
of Pasha Khan’s mounted irregulars, who appeared desirous of 
attaching themselves to us as an additional escott, in spite of our 
unwillingness to accept their services. About 2 p.m. we reached 
the village of Kara Ayné, which was to be our halting-place for 
the night. Hearing that there was a bazaar, I was minded to visit 
it, but found it to be a single shop kept by a leper, whose stock- 
in-trade appeared to consist chiefly of small tawdry mirrors and 
vety tank tobacco. 

On the following day we were joined by two more armed 
horsemen, making five in all, so that our cavalcade now pre- 
sented a most imposing appearance, and there seemed to be 
every chance that, at this rate of proceeding, we should ac- 
cumulate a small army before reaching Tabriz. In order, as I 
believe, to sustain our flagging faith in their utility, and to con- 
vince us of the danger of the toad, an alarm of robbers was 
started by our escort as we were ttaversing a narrow defile. 


FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 55 


Assuring us that only three days ago three men had been robbed 
and murdered in this very spot, they galloped wildly ahead, now 
cautiously ascending and peeping over the summit of a hillock, 
now madly descending it at break-neck speed, and scouring 
across the country. In the caravan all were huddled together in 
a compact mass; and, in spite of our scepticism, ‘Ali insisted on 
the rifle being got ready for action, while he continued to bran- 
dish an old sword (which he had bought at Erzeroum) in the 
most truculent manner. Notwithstanding all these preparations, 
no tobbets appeared; and, after we had been sufficiently enter- 
tained by the evolutions of our escort, we were permitted to 
lapse once mote into tranquillity. Early in the afternoon, after 
fording a river (the eminently picturesque bridge being broken 
down), and passing a pretty hamlet situated by the side of a 
stream, we attived at the village of Zorawa, where we halted for 
the night. Here we obtained very fair quarters in the house of 
a fine-looking old man, with some knowledge of Persian. Four 
ot five of the inhabitants came in to stare at us and smoke their 
kalydns (“hubble-bubbles”’), with intermittent attempts to mend 
a broken door. ‘Ali struck up a great friendship with our host, 
and, inspired by this, and the reflection that on the morrow we 
should reach a town of some importance, made him a present of 
all that remained of our tea. 

Next day (26th October) we found to our delight that our 
escort was reduced to two, who still continued their attempts 
to scare us with alarms of robbers. Whether the road was indeed 
dangerous I do not know, but it was certainly amazingly bad. 
About mid-day, on emerging from a very fine gorge, we saw 
at our feet a wide and cultivated plain, surrounded almost en- 
tirely by mountains, except to the right, in the direction of 
Urumiyyé. In this plain lay the beautiful little city of Khuy, and, 
somewhat nearer to us, the suburb of Piré—both surrounded by 
a mass of gardens. The latter we reached in about an hour, and 
here we rested for a while. Thence onwards to the very walls of 


56 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 


Khiy (appropriately styled ‘“ Daru’s-safd,” “the Abode of 
Delight”) our way lay through pleasant gardens of poplars, 
willows, and fruit-trees, and fields planted with cotton. At 
3.30 p.m. we entered the town, and put up at a clean and well- 
constructed caravansatay. 

While the baggage was being unloaded, I perceived that we 
wete undergoing an attentive scrutiny on the part of a magni- 
ficent-looking dervish, who wore on his head a green turban, 
of which one end depended over his shoulder, and carried in his 
hand a shining battle-axe. Presently he began to address en- 
quiries to “Ali, and, on learning from him that I spoke Persian, 
approached me and entered into conversation. He proved to be 
a native of Kirman, Mir Jalalu’d-Din by name; and his extra- 
otdinary fertility of imagination, which often carried him far 
beyond the bounds, not only of the probable, but of the possible, 
rendered him a very amusing companion, if not a very reliable 
informant. He at once constituted himself our guide, philo- 
sopher, and friend, and hardly quitted us during the three days 
which we spent at Khuy, declaring that he perceived us to be 
excellent fellows, worthy of his society and conversation. He 
assuted us that he had travelled much, and had thrice visited 
London, once in company with the Shah; that he had instructed 
members of the Russian royal family in Persian; and that besides 
this, his native tongue, he was conversant with no less than ten 
languages, including Kurdish, Russian, and the dialect of Sistan 
on the eastern frontier of Persia. Having given us these details 
about himself, he began to question us as to our destination, and, 
on learning that we were bound for Tabriz, told us that we must 
on no account omit to visit the towns of Salmas, Khusravabdad, 
and Dilmaghan, more especially the last, in which, as he de- 
clared, there were no less than a thousand English residents, who, 
through converse with dervishes and Sufis, had become enlight- 
ened and philosophical. While we were engaged in conversation, 
a man entered the room to enquire our names and whence we 


FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 57 


came, the object for which this information was sought being, 
as Mir Jalalu’d-Din informed us with perfect gravity, that it 
might be inserted in the newspapers of Tabriz! His imagination 
being now temporarily exhausted, our worthy friend bade us 
good-night; and, promising to be with us betimes in the morning, 
and to show us something of the town, left us to repose. 

Our first business on awaking in the morning was to make 
enquiries as to the possibility of obtaining a bath in the adjacent 
hammdm, and this indulgence was without difficulty accorded to 
us. On our return we found our friend the dervish awaiting our 
attival. He at once launched out into a disquisition on things 
pertaining to his order. The true ‘¢rif or adept, he informed us, 
was distinguished by four external signs: the sabar, ot axe, which 
serves to protect him during his wanderings in the desert from 
ferocious beasts; the keshku/, or gourd slung on chains, in which 
he receives alms; the 47, or felt cap embroidered with texts, 
which crowns his head; and the gés#, or long locks, which fall 
over his shoulders. He then showed me some pills, compounded, 
as he assured me, after a prescription of the sage Lokméan, of 
a substance called barsh, and known by the name of /abb-i-nishdt, 
ot “pills of gladness.’’ One of these he offered me to eat, assuring 
me that it would not fail to produce a most delightful sense of 
exhilaration and ecstasy; but, although I complied with his in- 
vitation, I failed to observe any such effect. 

About 11 a.m. we accompanied him for a stroll through the 
town. He first took us to a neighbouring caravansatay and in- 
troduced us to a Syrian Christian of Urumiyyé, named Simon 
Abraham, who practised the trade of a photographer, and spoke 
English (which he had learned from the missionaries settled at 
that place) very well. He, in his turn, introduced us to another 
Syrian Christian, called Dr Samuel, who kept a dispensary at the 
opposite side of the caravansaray, and who likewise possessed 
a good knowledge of English. Both received us very cordially, 
and did much to render pleasant our sojourn at Khiuy. 


58 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 


In the afternoon we were taken by the indefatigable Mir 
Jalalu’d-Din to visit a feRyé, or retreat for dervishes, situated 
near the walls of the town. The dervishes, who were a most 
heterogeneous crew, including, besides Persians, Kurds and 
negroes, received us very hospitably, and gave us tea. On our 
return to the caravansatay, our companion introduced us to a 
rammdl, ot geomancet, who occupied a toom adjacent to ours. 
This votary of the occult sciences, Mirz4 Taki by name, was a 
native of Kirmadnshah. So far as I could see, he never quitted 
his cell, dividing his time between opium-smoking, tea-drinking, 
and casting the four dice-like brass cubes pivoted together 
whereby he essayed to unravel the mysteries of the future. After 
offering us a share of his tea, he proceeded to cast his dice and 
tell me my fortune, scribbling on a piece of paper the while, 
somewhat as follows:—‘“‘Three, two, one, two” (counting the 
numbers uppermost on the dice), “‘Praise be to Allah! thou wert 
born under a lucky star. Ove, one, three, four; thy journey will be 
a long one, and seven months at least will elapse ere thou shalt 
see again thy native land. Two, two, four, two; I take refuge with 
Allah, the Supreme, the Mighty! What is it that I see? Thou 
shalt without doubt incur a great danger on the road, and indeed 
it seemeth to me that one will attempt thy life before thou 
reachest Tabriz. Four, three, one, four; thou hast already lost, or 
wilt shortly lose, two things of value——” (I immediately 
thought of my watch, and then recollected that I had informed 
Mir Jalalu’d-Din of its loss). ‘‘ Four, four, two, one; our refuge 
is in God! A violent storm will overtake thee on thy voyage 
homewatrds, but from this thou wilt, In-sha’//dh, escape, by means 
of a talisman which I will prepare for thee. Tree, one, one, three; 
on thy return home thou wilt marry and have four sons and three 
daughters. Four, two, three, one; thou hast, alas! several powerful 
enemies, and an evil influence threatens thy star; but shouldst 
thou escape these (as, please God, thou wilt do, by the help of 
a charm which I will presently write for thee), thou wilt without 


FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 59 


doubt gain the favour of thy Queen, and attain unto great 
prosperity—In-sha’ dh! Thy fortune,” he continued, sweeping 
up the implements of his craft, “is, praise be to Allah, far from 
bad; a proof of which is that thou hast fallen in with one truly 
skilled in the occult sciences, and endowed with all kinds of 
knowledge, who is able not only to warn thee of the misfortunes 
which threaten thee, but also to provide thee with the means of 
avetting, or at least of mitigating, the same. The talismans which 
thou needest now ate as follows:—One to protect thee from the 
attempt on thy life which will be made before thou reachest 
Tabriz; one to ensute thy safety in the storm which will assail 
thee on thy homeward voyage; one——” 

“Honouted sir!” I interrupted at this point, “before giving 
you the trouble of writing so many charms, I would fain have 
some further proof of the efficacy of your science. I do not, 
indeed, like many of my countrymen, deny its existence, but of 
its truth I would desire a proof which you can easily afford me. 
To describe the events of the past is without doubt less difficult 
than to predict those of the future. Tell me, then, the name of 
my birthplace, the number of my brothers and sisters, and the 
adventutes which have already befallen me. Then, indeed, shall 
I know for certain that you are a skilful magician, and that the 
science which you practise is not (as some of my unbelieving 
countrymen assert) a vain and useless thing.” 

Reasonable as this request appeared to me to be, it did not 
seem to meet with the approbation of the geomancer, who 
appeared suddenly to lose interest in the conversation, seeing 
which we withdrew to our own room, where we subsequently 
received a visit from our Syrian friends. 

Next morning, before I was dressed, Mir Jalalu’d-Din ap- 
peated with two small manuscripts, both of which, he said, 
belonged to a poor Sufi, who was willing to sell them for a small 
sum only because he was stricken down by a mortal disease. 
One of these manuscripts contained, besides the well-known 


60 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 


philosophical poem of Sheykh Mahmud Shabistari known as 
the Gulshan-i-Rdz ort “Rose Garden of Mystery,” a treatise on 
the mystical science of managing the breath, from which he read 
me several long extracts. The other consisted of a few scattered 
pages from a work on medicine, which, he gravely informed me, 
had been written by the hand of Galen himself, and discovered by 
himself and a comrade amongst the ruins of ove of the pyramids 
destroyed by the English! Not wishing to hurt the feelings of my 
ingenious friend by giving expression to my doubts, and thinking 
that some compensation was due to him for the trouble which 
he had been at to entertain us, I agreed to purchase these manu- 
scripts for the moderate sum which he named. 

We next visited the dispensary of Dr Samuel, whither H—— 
had already preceded us. Here for the first time I was able to 
appreciate the difficulties incidental to the practice of medicine 
amongst a people whose curiosity prompts them to hover round 
the physician long after their own cases have been dealt with, 
and who ate only too eager to throw out hints on diagnosis and 
treatment whenever they get the opportunity. Our visit to the 
dispensary was so far unfortunate that, on returning to our 
caravansatay towatds evening, after a stroll in the bazaar and 
a chat with the postmaster, I found a crowd of people assembled 
outside, who, on beholding me, cried out, “‘He comes! the 
Firangi bakim has arrived,” and thronged after me into the square. 
This assembly consisted of several sick people, accompanied by 
a number of their friends and relatives, who, hearing that we had 
some knowledge of medicine, were anxious to consult us. On 
enquiry I learned that they had previously been attending Dr 
Samuel, from whom they had obtained medicine, of which they 
had only made a very brief trial. I therefore told them that they 
had better give his treatment a fair chance before deserting it for 
some new remedy, especially as I was convinced, both by con- 
versation with the Syrian doctor, and by observation of his prac- 
tice, that he was at least as competent as myself to advise them. 


FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 61 


It was with much regret that on the following morning 
(29th October) we prepared to quit Khuy. For some time I 
despaired of ever getting off. Inside the room, where we were 
vainly attempting to pack our things, were our Syrian friends, 
together with Mir Jalalu’d-Din, who had come to bid us farewell. 
Outside were crowds of sick people come for advice and treat- 
ment, irregular soldiers anxious to be engaged as an escort, and 
idle spectators; while above all was visible the ugly grinning 
face of Feyzu’llah, the muleteer, trying to hasten our departure 
with cries of “‘Gidakh!”’ which, in the Turkish dialect of Adhar- 
bayjan, signifies ““Let us go.” At length, about 11 a.m., our 
preparations were completed, and we were on the point of start- 
ing, when Mir Jalalu’d-Din (who had disappeared for a while 
previously) approached me to bid me farewell and to give me 
two mote proofs of his good will. The first of these was a letter 
of introduction to a brother dervish at Tabriz, who, he assured 
me, would very probably consent to accompany me on my 
travels, and would perhaps even return with me to my native 
country. Unfortunately, I was unable to put this statement to 
the test, and the letter was never used. The second was a small 
white circular object, looking like an unperforated and much- 
worn shirt button, which he said was a talisman, sufficient, in all 
probability, to protect me against the danger of being robbed 
ot murdeted which had been predicted by the opium-smoking 
geomancer. As a further precaution, however, he added that 
I should do well, in the event of robbers making their appear- 
ance, to dismount from my horse, take a handful of dust from 
the road, blow on it, and scatter it around me, at the same time 
uttering the “ Bismi’ah,” when the robbers would infallibly dis- 
perse. He then asked me to give him a wadbr, or offering of money, 
for the dervishes, who would exert their influence to protect me 
from harm, and, having received this, he finally bade me farewell. 

Quitting the town by a gate opposite to that by which we 
had entered it, we passed through a long avenue of poplars, 


62 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 


and shortly afterwards reached a point where the road bifurcated, 
one branch running southwards in the direction of Urumtyyé, 
and the other, which we pursued, eastwards towards the hills 
which we must cross to teach Tabriz. Near the summit of one 
of these hills was a small imdmyddé, or shrine, which, as Farach 
informed us, was reputed most efficacious in curing persons 

afflicted with hydrophobia, or bitten by a serpent. After a short 
stage of four hours we reached a little village called Seyyid 
Taju’d-Din, where we halted for the night. 

Next day we continued to ascend for about two hours, until 
we reached the top of the pass. From this we had a magnificent 
view of the great salt lake of Urumiyyé, glittering in the sun, 
and studded with numerous rocky islands, which, as an effect 
of the mirage, appeared deeply indented at the base. Descending 
by the dry bed of a river which did duty for a road, we soon 
entered the plain which skirts the lake on this its northern side. 
Here we fell in with a wandering snake-charmer, who, after ex- 
hibiting to us the immunity with which he handled his snakes, 
pressed us to buy pieces of dirty bread, which he assured us would 
prove an infallible remedy for snake-bites. This, however, I 
declined to do, for I thought myself sufficiently provided with 
talismans for the present. 

Before 2 p.m. we reached our halting-place, Tasuch, a large 
but uninteresting village distant about a mile from the shore 
of the lake. Nothing worthy of note befell us here, except the 
loss of a putse of money, which event our friend the geomancer, 
had he known of it, might perhaps have claimed as the fulfilment 
of a part of his prediction. 

The following day’s march took us to Dizé-Khalil, a good- 
sized village with a fair bazaar, situated amidst gardens of poplars 
near the north-east corner of the lake. Here we obtained good 
quartets, where out host brought us, together with a present 
of flowers, an old copy of the Pé/grim’s Progress left behind by 
some previous traveller. 


FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 63 


Next day, Tuesday, 1st November, after a tedious march of 
neatly ten hours, broken by a short halt about 2 p.m. at a dis- 
consolate village called Miyan, we reached Tabriz, the capital 
of the province of Adharbayjan, the residence of the Va/-‘ahd, or 
Crown Prince, and one of the largest, if not the largest, of the 
cities of Persia. Although we were provided with letters of in- 
troduction to Mr Abbott, the British Consul, it was too late to 
think of presenting them that evening, and accordingly, after 
threading our way for nearly an hour through the vast suburbs 
which surround the city, we were glad to alight at the first 
respectable caravansaray which we came to. 

On the following morning we repaired to the British Con- 
sulate, and were very kindly received by Mr Abbott and his wife, 
who invited us to be their guests during our sojourn in Tabriz. 
We gladly accepted this invitation, for we had not seena European 
since leaving Erzeroum, and had not slept in a proper bed since 
we quitted the Hotel d’Italie at Trebizonde. 

We remained at Tabriz four days. During this time we became 
acquainted with Mr Whipple, one of the American missionaries, 
who kindly undertook to pilot us through the interminable 
labyrinth of bazaars (perhaps the most extensive in Persia), and 
the Turkish Consul, Behjet Bey, who, in addition to an excellent 
knowledge of Persian, possessed the best temper, the keenest 
sense of humour, the cheeriest laugh, and the most voracious 
appetite that I have ever seen in one of his nation. 

Although Tabriz is so important a town, it offers few attrac- 
tions to the sight-seer beyond the bazaars, the “Blue Mosque” 
(Masjid-i-Kabud), and the citadel (Arg), of which the two last 
ate said to date from the time of Hartnu’r-Rashid. 

Both of these monuments of antiquity we visited on the 
second day after our arrival. The Blue Mosque is now little 
more than a ruin, but the handsome tiles and inscriptions which 
still adorn its walls bear witness to its ancient splendour. The 
citadel (also said to have been originally a mosque) consists of 


64 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 


a squate enclosure with a single entrance, opposite to which 
rises a lofty, massive rectangular tower, accessible by means of 
a staircase in the left lateral wall of the quadrangle. The opposite 
side of the quadrangle is formed by a large anbdr, or magazine, 
now used as a storehouse for arms and ammunition. 

The view from the summit of the citadel is very extensive, 
and enabled me in some degree to realise the magnitude of the 
city, which lay below us like a map. From this height, in former 
days, criminals were sometimes hurled into the ditch below. On 
one occasion, we were informed, a woman condemned to suffer 
death in this manner was so buoyed up by the air inflating her 
loose garments that she reached the ground uninjured. Whether 
this story is true or false I cannot say, neither did I pay much 
attention to its recital, my thoughts being occupied with the 
tragic death of the young prophet of Shiraz, Mirza “Ali Muham- 
mad, better known as the Bab, which took place on oth July 
1850, at or near this spot. As I shall have to say a good deal about 
the Babi religion in subsequent chapters, it may not be altogether 
out of place to give here a brief account of the life and death of 
its founder, although the history of these is well known, and has 
been repeatedly set forth:. 

Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad was born at Shiraz on 9th October 
1820. His father, Seyyid Muhammad Riz4, a cloth-merchant in 
that town, died while he was still of tender age, leaving him to 
the care of his uncle Haji Seyyid “Ali. At the age of seventeen 
he was sent to the port of Bushire on the Persian Gulf, where, 
while engaged in transacting the business with which he had 
been entrusted, he rendered himself conspicuous not less by the 


1 See Gobineau’s Religions et Philosophies dans I’ Asie Centrale; Mirza Kazem- 
Beg’s articles on Bab et les Babys in the Journal Asiatique for 1866; several 
atticles by myself in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for 1889 and 1892; 
the Tvaveller’s Narrative, written to illustrate the Episode of the Bab, edited, 
translated, and annotated by me for the Syndics of the Cambridge University 
Press (1891); and my translation of the New History of Mirzd “Ali Muhammad 
the Bab (1893). 


FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 65 


austerity of his morals than by the sweetness and amiability of 
his disposition. Addicted from an early age to religious medita- 
tion, he was soon impelled to abandon commercial pursuits and 
to undertake a pilgrimage to Mecca and the shrines of the Imams 
(so dear to evety pious Persian) at Nejef and Kerbela. Here he 
became the pupil of Haji Seyyid Kazim of Resht, a theologian 
who, notwithstanding the enmity and opposition of the orthodox 
Shi‘ite clergy, had already begun to exert a considerable influence 
on Persian thought, and to gather round him a numerous band 
of ardent disciples. Mirza “Ali Muhammad, in spite of his youth 
and retiring disposition, soon attracted the attention of this 
teacher, who did not fail to be struck by the sweet and thoughtful 
countenance of the young Shirazi. Nor was Seyyid Kazim the 
only one who yielded to a charm which few could wholly resist. 
Many other learned and devout men began to look with respect 
and affection on one whose humility only served to throw his 
other virtues into bolder relief. Thus were sown the seeds of 
that devotion which was destined ere long to write the testimony 
of its sincerity in letters of blood throughout the length and 
breadth of the Persian land, and which was to prove once mote 
to the world that all the torments which the tyrant can devise 
ot the torturer execute are impotent to subdue the courage born 
of faith and enthusiasm. 

It is unnecessary for me to describe in detail the process 
whereby there grew up in the mind of Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad 
a conviction that he was destined to become the reformer and 
saviour of his nation. Suffice it to say, that, after a prolonged 
inward struggle, on 23rd May 1844 he proclaimed himself to the 
world as the Bab or Gate whereby men might win to the sacred 
mysteries and spiritual truths of which hehad become the recipient. 

Before long he had gathered round himself a number of dis- 
ciples. Amongst these were many of the most distinguished 
pupils of Seyyid Kazim, whose recent death had left them tem- 
porarily without a recognised head. They eagerly adopted the 

B 5 


66 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 


doctrines of their former fellow-student, and began to preach 
them openly wherever they went, so that in a short time the fame 
of Mirz4 ‘Ali Muhammad was noised abroad throughout the 
whole of Persia, and everywhere men began to say that the 
Imam Mahdi had come at last for the deliverance of the nations 
and the establishment of universal justice and peace. 

At first but little attention was paid to the new sect by the 
government or clergy, but towards the end of the summer of 
1845 they began to be alarmed at its rapid spread, and took 
measures to check its progress. The Bab, who had just returned 
from Mecca to Bushite, was brought to Shiraz and placed in 
confinement. His followers wete prohibited from discussing his 
doctrines in public, and some of the more active were beaten, 
mutilated, and expelled from the town. In the early summer of 
1846, however, a plague broke out in Shiraz, and, during the 
general consternation caused by this, the Bab effected his escape, 
and made his way to Isfahan, where he was well received by 
Mintchihr Khan, governor of that city, who afforded him pro- 
tection and hospitality for nearly a year. 

Early in 1847 Mintchihr Khan died, and his successor, anxious 
to curry favour with the Government, sent the Bab, under the 
cate of an escort of armed horsemen, to the capital. So serious 
wete the apprehensions already entertained by the Government 
of a popular demonstration in the prisonet’s favour, that his 
guards had received instructions to avoid entering the towns 
by which they must needs pass. At Kashan, however, a respect- 
able merchant named Mirza Janit, who subsequently suffered 


t Mirza Jani’s chief claim to distinction is as the historian of the move- 
ment for which he gave his life. His history, of primary importance for the 
study of Babiism, contains a vast number of curious particulars, doctrinal and 
biographical, which have been omitted (not unintentionally) by later Babi 
writers. It is, however, extremely rare. So fat as I know, only two manu- 
scripts of it exist, and one of these contains only a third part of the work. 
Both these manuscripts belonged formerly to the Comte de Gobineau, and 
both are now in the Bibliotheque Nationale at Paris. See my translation of 
the New History, Introduction, and Appendix ii. 


FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ — 67 


martyrdom for his faith, prevailed on them by means of a bribe 
to allow their prisoner to tarry with him two days. At the village 
of Khanlik, also near Teheran, a number of believers came out 
to meet the Bab. Amongst these was Mirza Huseyn ‘Ali of Nur 
in Mazandaran, who, at a later date, under the title of Behd’u’//dh 
(“the Splendour of God”), was recognised by the great majority 
of the Babis as their spiritual chief, and who, till his death on 
16th May 1892, resided at Acre in Syria, surrounded by a band 
of faithful followers, and visited yearly by numbers of pilgrims. 

The king, Muhammad Shah, and his chief minister, Haji 
Mirza Aghd4si, dreading the effect likely to be produced in the 
capital by the presence of the Bab, determined to send him to the 
fortress of Maku on the north-west frontier of Persia, without 
allowing him to enter Teheran. Thither he was accordingly con- 
veyed; but at Zanjan and Milan he received a popular ovation, 
and even at Maku it was found impossible to prevent him from 
receiving occasional letters and visits from his adherents. Nor 
did the plan of transferring him to the sterner custody of Yahya 
Khan, governor of the castle of Chihrik, near Urumtyyé, meet 
with much better success in this respect. 

Meantime, while the Bab was occupying the weary days of his 
imprisonment in compiling and arranging the books destined 
to setve as a guide to his followers after the fate which he had 
but too much cause to apprehend should have removed him from 
their midst, his emissaries were actively engaged in propagating 
his doctrines. Fiery enthusiasm on the part of these was met by 
fierce opposition from the orthodox party, headed by the clergy, 
and it needed only the confusion and disorder introduced into 
all departments of the empire by the death of Muhammad Shah 
(5th October 1848) to bring the two factions into armed collision. 
The strife, once kindled, rapidly assumed the most alarming 
proportions, and the reign of the new king, Nasiru’d-Din 
Shah, was inaugurated by formidable insurrections of the Babis 
at Yezd, Niriz, Zanjan, and in Mazandaran. Of the two latter 


57-2 


68 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 


tisings I shall have to say something when I come to speak of 
the places at which they occurred. For the present it is sufficient 
to state that, after the rising in Mazandaran had been suppressed 
with great difficulty and the sacrifice of many lives, a revolt, 
which threatened to defy the united efforts of the whole Persian 
army, broke out at Zanjan. Thereupon, by the advice of Mirza 
Taki Khan (at that time prime minister to the young king), 
an attempt was made to strike terror into the hearts of the 
insurgents, and to fill their minds with despair, by the public 
execution of the Bab, who, though innocent of any direct share 
in the plans or councils of the rebels, was regarded as the source 
from which they drew the enthusiasm which inspired them with 
a tesolution so obstinate and a courage so invincible. 

Accordingly, orders were despatched to Tabriz to bring the 
Bab thither from his prison-house, and, after the form of a trial, 
to put him to death. After enduring all manner of insults at the 
hands of the Government authorities, the clergy, and the rabble 
of the city, through the streets of which he was dragged for many 
hours, he was finally brought to the place of execution, near the 
citadel, a little before sundown. An immense crowd, drawn 
thither some by sympathy, others by a vindictive desire to witness 
the death of one whom they regarded as an atch-heretic, but 
actuated for the most part, probably, by mere curiosity, was here 
assembled. Many of those who composed it were at least half- 
convinced of the divine mission of the Bab; others, who had 
come with feelings of animosity or indifference, were moved to 
compassion by the sight of the youthful victim, who continued 
to manifest the same dignity and fortitude which had characterised 
him during the whole period of his imprisonment. 

The Bab was not to suffer alone. The sentence which had been 
pronounced against him included also two of his disciples. One 
of these, Aka Seyyid Huseyn of Yezd, who had been his com- 
panion and amanuensis during the whole period of his captivity, 
either actuated by a momentary but uncontrollable fear of death, 


FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 69 


or, as the Babis assert with mote probability, obediently to orders 
received from his Master, bidding him escape at all hazards and 
convey to the faithful the sacred writings of which he was the 
depository, declared himself willing to renounce the creed for 
which he had already sacrificed so much, and the Master to whom 
he had hitherto so faithfully adhered. His recantation was ac- 
cepted and his life spared, but his death was only deferred for 
two yeats. In September 1852 he met the fate which he no longer 
affected to fear amongst the martyrs of Teheran. 

The other disciple was a young merchant of Tabriz, named 
Ak4é Muhammad ‘Ali. Although every effort was made to induce 
him to follow the example of his comrade, and though his wife 
and little children were brought before him, entreating him with 
tears to save his life, he stood firm in his faith, and only requested 
that at the moment of death he might still be allowed to fix his 
gaze on his Master. Finding all efforts to alter his decision un- 
availing, the executioners proceeded to suspend him alongside 
of his Master at the distance of a few feet from the ground by 
means of cords passed under the arms. As he hung thus he was 
heard to address the Bab in these words: “‘Master! art thou 
satishied with me?” Then the file of soldiers drawn up before 
the prisonets received the command to fire, and for a moment 
the smoke of the volley concealed the sufferers from view. When 
it rolled away, a cry of mingled exultation and terror arose from 
the spectators, for, while the bleeding corpse of the disciple hung 
suspended in the air pierced with bullets, the Bab had disappeared 
from sight! It seemed, indeed, that his life had been preserved 
by a miracle, for, of the storm of bullets which had been aimed 
at him, not one had touched him; nay, instead of death they had 
brought him deliverance by cutting the ropes which bound him, 
so that he fell to the ground unhurt. 

For a moment even the executioners were overwhelmed with 
amazement, which rapidly gave place to alarm as they reflected 
what effect this marvellous deliverance was likely to have on the 


yo FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 


inconstant and impressionable multitude. These apprehensions, 
however, were of short duration. One of the soldiers espied the 
Bab hiding in a guardroom which opened on to the stone plat- 
form over which he had been suspended. He was seized, dragged 
forth, and again suspended; a new firing-party was ordered to 
advance (for the men who had composed the first refused to act 
again); and before the spectators had recovered from their first 
astonishment, or the Babis had had time to attempt a rescue, the 
body of the young prophet of Shiraz was riddled with bullets. 

The two corpses wete dragged through the streets and 
bazaars, and cast out beyond the city gates to be devoured by dogs 
and jackals. From this last indignity, however, they were saved 
by the devotion of Suleyman Khan and a few other believers, 
who, whether by force, bribes, or the influence of powerful 
friends, succeeded in obtaining possession of them. They were 
wrapped in white silk, placed in one coffin, and sent to Teheran, 
where, by order of Mirza Yahya Subb-i-Eze/ (“the Morning of 
Eternity,’ who, though but twenty years of age, had been chosen 
to succeed the Bab), they were deposited in a little shrine called 
Imdm-xddé-i-Ma‘suim, which stands by the Hamadan road not far 
from Ribat-Karim. Here they remained undisturbed for seventeen 
or eighteen years, till the schism originated by Beha deprived 
his half-brother Ezel of the supremacy in the Babi Church which 
he had hitherto enjoyed, when they were removed by the Beha’is, 
to whom alone is now known the last resting-place of the 
glorious martyrs of Tabriz. 








CHAPTER IV 


FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 


“We have a horrour for uncouth monsters; but, upon experience, all 
these bugs grow familiar and easy to us.” —(L’ Estrange.) 


N Monday, 7th November, bidding farewell to our kind 

host, we quitted Tabriz as we had entered it, with Farach’s 
animals, which we had decided to tre-engage at sixty-five Ardns a 
head (nearly £2 sterling) for our journey to the capital. Contrary 
to the general rule, we managed to begin our journey with a 
good long stage of eight farsakhs!. We passed nothing of in- 
terest except a large sheet of water, lying to the north of the road, 
on which were multitudes of water-fowl; and, as we had made 
a late start, it was more than an hour after sundown when we 
_teached Haji-Ak4, where we halted for the night. 

Next day we were joined on the toad by a horseman of 
respectable appearance, who accompanied us on our journey as 
far as Miyané. His name, as I discovered, was Mirza Hashim, 
and his conversation did much to beguile the tediousness of the 
way. Approaching the subject with some diffidence, I asked him 
to tell me what he knew about the Babi insurrection at Zanjan. 
He answered that he could not tell me much about it, except that 
the insurgents, whose numbers hardly exceeded 300 fighting 


1 The farsakh, farsang, or patasang is a somewhat variable measure of 
length averaging about 3? miles. As Dr Wills has remarked (Land of the Lion 
and the Sun), it varies with the nature of the ground, being longer when the 
road is good, and shorter when it is bad. This leads me to believe that it is 
intended to indicate the distance which can be traversed in an hour by a good 
hotse going at walking pace. It is, however, considerably longer than the 
Turkish “hour” (sé‘at), which is only 3 miles. A caravan rarely covers a 
farsakh in an hour. 


72 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 


men, held at bay an army of neatly 10,000 men for nine months. 
He added that he had himself known one of them who had 
succeeded in effecting his escape after the sack of the town, and 
who used to boast that he had with his own hand slain 1000 of 
the royal troops! 

In the course of the morning we passed a fine-looking though 
somewhat ruined building, situated on the left side of the road 
opposite to the village of Tikmé-T4sh, which our companion 
informed us was a palace built for the Shah nearly forty years 
before, on the occasion of his visiting this part of his dominions. 
Since then it has remained unused, and has been allowed to fall 
into disrepair. Another neglected palace of this sort exists farther 
east, at Sultantyyé. 

Farther on we passed two fine old caravansarays, constructed 
with the care and solidity which characterise all the work done 
in the glorious days of the Safavi kings. These, however, we 
passed without halting, and pushed on to Kara Chiman, a 
picturesquely situated village, lying somewhat to the south of 
the main road in a little valley through which runs a river bor- 
dered with groves of poplar trees. Here we obtained very good 
quarters in a clean, well-constructed bdldkhdné (upper room), 
commanding a fine view of the valley, river, and village. 

Next morning (9th November) we passed, soon after starting, 
two large villages, situated at some distance from the road, the 
one to the north, the other to the south. The former is called 
Bashsiz, the latter Bulghawar. Beyond these there was little 
worthy of note in the parched-up undulating country through 
which our road lay, until, about 3 p.m., we reached our halting- 
place, Suma, where we obtained good quarters at the house of 
one Mashhadi Hasan. In the evening we received a visit from our 
travelling companion, Mirza Hashim; and as our next stage 
would bring us to Miyané, which enjoys so evil a reputation by 
reason of the poisonous bugs which infest it, we asked him 
whether it was true, as is currently reported, that the bite of 


FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 73 


these animals proves fatal to a stranger. After assuring us that 
this was sometimes the case, he informed us that the so-called 
“Miyané bug,” or “mala,” was not altogether confined to that 
town, but that it also occurred in Suma, the village wherein we 
then were. The villagers, he added, have the following curious 
story about its origin:— 

Once upon a time a native of Sumé went to the neighbouring 
village of Hashtarid, where he became involved in a quarrel 
with the inhabitants, which culminated in his being murdered 
by them. From the body of the murdered man emerged a 
number of these wa/as, which established themselves in the village 
of Suma. Whenever a native of Hashtarid arrives there, they 
remember the blood-feud which exists, and avenge the death of 
their “ancestor”’ by inflicting a fatal bite upon the descendant of 
his murderers. To all others, however, their bite, though painful, 
is comparatively harmless. 

Mirza Hashim then told us of the pes of the winters at 
Ardabil, and showed us a woollen cap with coverings for the 
eats, admirably adapted for a protection against severe cold. 
Having informed me that he had refused to sell it for fifteen 
krans (rather less than ten shillings), he offered to make me a 
present of it. Of course I politely declined his offer, telling him 
that I could not consent to deprive him of so valuable a posses- 
sion; for I had no need of the cap, and did not think it worth the 
sum he had mentioned. 

Europeans travelling in Persia have sometimes complained 
of what they regard as the meanness of the Persians in offering 
presents in return for which they expect money. It appears to 
me that this complaint arises from a failure to understand the 
fact that such an offer from a man of distinctly lower rank than 
oneself is merely tantamount to a declaration that he is willing 
to sell or exchange the article in question. When he offers to 
give it as a present, he merely uses the same figure of speech as 
did Ephron the Hittite in negotiating the sale of the cave of 


74 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 


Machpelah with Abraham. All peoples make use, to a greater or 
less extent, of similar euphemisms, and we have no mote right 
to blame a poor Persian for offering us a “‘present,”’ in return for 
which he expects to receive equivalent value, than to censure 
as sordid the desire expressed by a cabman to be “‘remembered”’ 
by us. 

As I have touched on this subject, I may as well say something 
about presents in general. There are not fewer than eight words 
more or less commonly used in Persian in this sense. Of these, 
three, viz. armaghdn, rah-dvard, and sawghdt, signify any object 
which one brings back from a journey to give to one’s friends 
at home. Yddigdr is a keepsake, to remind the owner of the absent 
friend by whom it was given. Had/yyé is a general term for any 
sort of present. There remain the terms ta‘druf, pish-kesh, and 
in‘dm, each of which requires a somewhat fuller explanation. 

The first of these signifies a present given to some one of 
about the same social rank as the donor. In such cases no return 
is usually expected, at any rate in money. Sometimes, however, 
the term is used by one who, while desirous of receiving the 
monetary equivalent of that which he offers, does not wish to 
admit his social inferiority to the person to whom the “present” 
is offered by using the term pish-kesh. 

When, however, a peasant, servant, muleteer, gardener, or the 
like, offers a present of flowers, fruits, or fowls to the traveller, 
he calls it a pish-kesh (offering), and for such he generally expects 
at least the proper value in money of the article so offered. When 
the “‘present” is something to which a definite monetary value 
can be assigned (e.g. an article of food), this is only right and 
proper. To expect a poor villager to supply travellers gratis with 
the necessaries of life, which he can often ill spare, and to blame 
him for desiring to receive the value of the same, is surely the 
height of absurdity. With presents of flowers the case is some- 
what different. It often happens that the traveller, on visiting a 
garden, for instance, is confronted on his exit by a row of gar- 


FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 45 


denetrs, each of whom offers him a bunch of flowers. He is then 
placed in rather a dilemma, for, on the one hand, he feels some 
delicacy in refusing what may, after all, be a gift prompted solely 
by courtesy and kindness; while, on the other hand, he may not 
care to pay several &rdns for that which is of no use to him. Even 
in this case I think that Europeans ate partly to blame for a 
custom which has, in some of the more frequented parts of Persia, 
become an intolerable nuisance. My reason for believing that 
what sometimes amounts to little less than a system of extortion 
(theoretically capable of unlimited expansion so long as there is 
a handful of flowers in the village and a peasant to bring and offer 
the same) originally grew out of a graceful and courteous custom 
of welcoming a stranger by presenting him with a nosegay, is 
that in parts of Persia less frequently visited by Europeans, such 
as the neighbourhood of Yezd and Kirmdn, I have often been 
given a handful of roses or other flowers by a passing peasant, 
who continued on his way after the accomplishment of this little 
act of courtesy without once pausing or looking back in expecta- 
tion of receiving a reward. 

As regards the last kind of present, the in‘dm, or gratuity, it is, 
as its name implies, one bestowed by a superior on an inferior, and 
is almost always given in the form of money. The term is applied 
not only to the presents of money spoken of above, but to the 
gtatuities given to villagers in whose houses one puts up for the 
night, keepers of caravansarays and post-houses at which one 
alights, shdgird-chdpdrs who accompany one on each stage in 
posting to show the way and bring back the horses, servants in 
houses at which one stays, and, in short, anyone of humble rank 
who renders one a service. To determine the amount which 
ought to be given in any particular case is sometimes rather a 
difficult matter for the traveller. 

A teliable native servant is of great use in this matter; and 
should the traveller possess such, he will do well to follow his 
advice until he is able to judge for himself. The most costly 


76 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 


in‘dms, and those which one is most inclined to grudge, are such 
as must occasionally be given to the farrdshes of a governor of 
other gteat man, who are sent to bear a present from their master, 
ot to meet the traveller and form his escort. To these I shall have 
occasion to allude again. 

I must now tetutn from this digression to our march of 
1oth November. The day was cloudy and overcast, and soon 
after we had started a gentle rain began to fall. We crossed 
the river Kizil Uzan in several places, and for a considerable 
distance wended our way along its broad gravelly bed. Travers- 
ing the crest of a hill soon after mid-day, we came in full view 
of the little town of Miyané, which looked very pretty with its 
blue domes and background of poplars and willows. We had no 
sooner teached the outskirts of the town than we were met by 
a number of the inhabitants, each eager to induce us to take up 
our quarters at his house, the advantages of which he loudly 
proclaimed. No sooner had we alighted at one place to examine 
the quarters offered, than all the competitors of its owner cried | 
out with one accord that if we put up there we should assuredly 
suffer from the bite of the poisonous bugs with which, they 
averred, the house in question swarmed. We accordingly moved 
on to another house, where the same scene was tepeated, each 
man representing his own house as the one place in the town free 
from this pest, and everyone except the owner uniting in the 
condemnation of any quarters which we seemed likely to select. 
Finally, in despair we selected the first clean-looking room which 
presented itself, and occupied it, regardless of the warnings of 
the disappointed competitors, who at length departed, assuring 
us that we had pitched on one of the very worst houses in the 
whole town. 

Soon after our arrival we took a walk through the town, and 
visited the tolerably good bazaars (in which we purchased some 
dried figs, and a fruit called dar, or, in Turkish, Abunndb, some- 
what resembling a small date, with a very large stone), and the 


FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN =: 


imdmzddé, of which the blue dome is the most conspicuous 
feature of Miyané. Here, as it was Thursday evening (shab-i- 
uma, the eve of Friday), many people were assembled to witness 
a ta‘xiya, of representation of the sufferings of the Imams Hasan 
and Huseyn. In the enclosure surrounding the building was 
seated a half-naked man, who held in his hand a scourge armed 
with iron thongs, wherewith he occasionally struck himself on 
the shoulders and back. All those who entered this enclosure, 
from which we were excluded, kissed the chains which hung in 
festoons across the gate. 

On returning to our quarters we found a man who had 
brought his horse to consult us about its eye, which had received 
a slight injury. After advising him as to its treatment, we entered 
into convetsation with him. He warned us that in spite of the 
apparent cleanliness of our lodging, he knew for certain that 
there were bugs in it; but on questioning him further, it appeared 
that his only reason for saying so was that he had seen one three 
yeats ago. Nevertheless, he advised us to take two precautions, 
which he assured us would protect us from injury: firstly, to 
keep a candle burning all night; secondly, to take a small quantity 
of the spirit called “arak just before going to bed. We neglected 
the first of these measures, but not the second; and whether 
owing to this, or to the absence of the malas, we slept untroubled 
by the noxious insects which have given to Miyané so evil a 
reputation. 

Our toad next day led us towards the imposing-looking mass 
of the Kaflan-Kuh. A tortuous path brought us to the summit 
of the pass, whence we again descended to the river, which we 
crossed by a fine bridge. On the other side of this bridge we were 
met by a man who besought us to help him in recovering his 
horse from the soldiers at an adjacent guard-house, who had, as 
he alleged, forcibly and wrongfully taken it from him. We 
accordingly went with him to the guard-house, and endeavoured 
to ascertain the truth of the matter, and, if possible, effect a 


78 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 


satisfactory settlement. In answer to our enquiries, the soldiers 
informed us that they had reason to suspect that the horse had 
been stolen, as it was too valuable an animal to be the lawful 
property of the man in whose possession they had found it. They 
added that if he desired to recover it, he must go to Miyané and 
obtain a paper from some respectable citizen to certify that the 
_hotse really belonged to him, when it would be restored to him. 
With this explanation and promise we were compelled to be 
satisfied, and proceeded on our way till we reached another pass. 
On crossing this, we entered on an immense flat table-land, the 
sutface of which was thrown into conical mounds resembling 
gigantic ant-hills, and thinly covered with mountain plants, which 
perfumed the air with their fragrance. The ground was riddled 
' with the holes of what appeared to be a kind of jerboa. These 
little animals were very fearless, and allowed us to approach 
quite close to them before they retreated into their burrows. 

About 4 p.m. we reached the compact and almost treeless 
village of Sarcham, where we halted for the night. Just before 
reaching it we came up with one of those “‘caravans of the dead,” 
so graphically described by Vambéry. The coffins (which differ 
in some degree from those used in Europe, the upper end being 
flat instead of convex, and furnished with two short handles, 
like a wheelbarrow) were sewn up in sacking, to which was 
affixed a paper label bearing the name of the deceased. Each 
animal in this dismal caravan was laden with two or three 
coffins, on the top of which was mounted, in some cases, a man 
ot woman, related probably to one of the deceased, whose bodies 
were on their way to their last resting-place in the sacred precincts 
of Kum. 

We had no difficulty in getting lodgings at Sarcham, for the 
place contains an extraordinary number of caravansarays, con- 
sidering its small size, and the inhabitants vied with each other 
in offering hospitality. 

Next day (Saturday, 12th November) we started early, being 


FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 79 


given to understand that along stage lay before us. All day we 
followed the course of the river, which is a tributary of the Kizil 
Uzan, though here it seems to be known by the name of the 
Zanjan-4b. Dense fogs obscured the sun in the earlier part of 
the day, but these rolled away as the heat increased, leaving a 
cloudless sky. The air was perfumed with the scent of the plant 
which we had observed on the preceding day. On our match 
we passed three immense catavans, consisting respectively of 
102, 72, and 39 camels, bearing merchandise to Tabriz. There is 
to my mind an indescribable dignity about the camel, who seems 
to eye one scornfully with half-turned head as he passes majesti- 
cally on his way; and the sight of a string of these animals was 
one of which I never grew weaty. On the road we saw a serpent, 
as well as numbers of lizards, and a small tortoise, which our 
muleteers called sparghd, a wotd which I have never heard else- 
where, and which seems to be purely local. 

About 3 p.m. we reached the village of Nikh-beg, where we 
halted. It is a squalid-looking place, devoid of trees, and only 
rematkable for a very fine old caravansaray of the Safavi period, 
which bears an inscription over the gateway to the effect that it 
was tepaired by order of Shah Safi, who alighted here on his 
return from the successful siege of the fortress of Erivan. While 
copying this inscription, we were surprised and pleased to per- 
ceive the approach of Mr Whipple, the American missionary, who 
was posting from Tabriz to Hamadan to visit his fellow-workers 
there. 

Out next stage brought us to the considerable town of Zanjan, 
so celebrated for its obstinate defence by the Babis against the 
royal troops in the year 1850. It lies in a plain surrounded by 
hills, and is situated near, but not on, the river called Zanjan-ab, 
which is at this point surrounded by gardens. The town has 
never recovered from the effects of the siege, for, besides the 
injury which it sustained from the cannonade to which it was 
exposed for several months, a considerable portion was burnt 


80 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 


by the besieged on one occasion, when they were hard pressed 
by the enemy, to create a diversion. We entered the town by the 
western gate, passing on our left an extensive cemetery, of which 
two blue-domed imdmzddés constitute the most conspicuous 
feature. 

We alighted at a caravansaray near the bazaar, which we visited 
shortly after our arrival. It is not very extensive, being limited to 
one long street running east and west more than half through the 
town (which is much longer in this direction than from north 
to south). The great drawback to Zanjan is the enormous 
number of beggars who throng its streets and importune the 
traveller for alms with cries of ““AMah nejdt versin! Allah nejat 
versin!”? (“May God give you salvation!”’). In this respect it is 
unrivalled, so far as I have seen, by any town in Persia, with the 
exception of Kirman; and even there, though the poverty of the 
mendicant classes is probably greater, their importunity is far 
less. 

In the evening we received a visit from a very tascally-looking 
Teherani with a frightful squint, who enquired if we had any 
‘arak, and, on learning that we had, requested permission to 
introduce some companions of his who were waiting outside. 
These presently appeared, and, having done full justice to the 
‘arak, which they finished off, suggested that we might perhaps 
like to hear a song. Without waiting for an answer, one of them 
broke forth into the most discordant strains, shouting the end 
of each verse which struck him as peculiarly touching into the 
eat of the man who sat next him, who received it with a drunken 
simper and a languid “‘Ba” (“Yes”), as though it had been 
a question addressed to him. When this entertainment had come 
to an end, the eyes of our visitors fell on my pocket-flask, which 
they began to admire, saying, “‘This bottle is very good, and 
admirably adapted for the pocket...but we have already given 
enough trouble.”’ As I affected not to understand the purport of 
their remarks, they presently departed, to our great satisfaction. 


FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 81 


From the difficulty which the squint-eyed man seemed to ex- 
perience in getting his feet into his shoes, I fancied that our “arak 
was not the first which he had tasted that night. 

We remained at Zanjan during the next day, for I was anxious 
to examine the town and its walls, with a view to obtaining a 
clearer idea of the history of the siege, and the causes which had 
enabled the Babi insurgents to keep the royal troops at bay so 
long. Sir Henry Bethune, quoted by Watson in his History of 
Persia under the Kajar Dynasty, says that in his opinion the place 
ought to have been subdued by a regular army in a few days, and, 
so far as I can judge, it possesses no natural advantages as a 
stronghold. It is true that it is surrounded by a wall (now de- 
stroyed in some places), but though this averages twenty or 
twenty-five feet in height, it is built of no stronger material than 
unbaked clay. The desperate resistance offered by the Babis must 
therefore be attributed less to the strength of the position which 
they occupied than to the extraordinary valour with which they 
defended themselves. Even the women took part in the defence, 
and I subsequently heard it stated on good authority that, like 
the Carthaginian women of old, they cut off their long hair and 
bound it round the crazy guns to afford them the necessary 
support. The fiercest fighting was on the north and north-west 
sides of the town, by the cemetery and Tabriz gate. Unfortunately 
there was no one from whom I could obtain detailed information 
about the siege. This I regretted the more because I was con- 
vinced that, could I have found them, there must have been 
many persons resident in Zanjan who had witnessed it, or even 
taken part in it. I had, however, at that time no clue to guide 
me to those who would probably have preserved the most 
circumstantial details about it, viz. the Babis. There was therefore 
nothing to induce me to prolong my stay, and accordingly, after 
one day’s halt, we left Zanjan on 15th November for Sultaniyyé. 

The road from Zanjan to Sultaniyyé runs through a perfectly 
flat stony plain bounded by low hills to the north and the south, 

B 6 


82 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 


and is devoid of interest. Nearly three hours before reaching the 
latter place we could plainly see the great green dome of the 
mosque for which it is so celebrated. From a distance this ap- 
peared to form part of a mass of buildings, which, on nearer 
approach, proved to be a large palace constructed in the modern 
style, and situated some way to the north-west of the mosque. 

We paid a visit to the mosque immediately on our arrival, 
and were shown over it by an old Seyyid who spoke Persian. It 
is built in the shape of an octagon, and is surmounted by the 
large green dome which forms so conspicuous a feature of the 
landscape. From one side of the octagon (that farthest from the 
road) is thrown out a rectangular annexe containing the mzbrab. 
The main entrance is on the east side. The interior of the building 
is lined with most exquisite tile-work, and beautiful inscriptions 
in Arabic. In some places, where these tiles have been destroyed 
ot removed, an older, deeper layer of still finer pattern is visible. 
As the mosque 1s no longer used, the European traveller meets 
with none of the difficulties which usually form an insuperable 
obstacle to visiting similar buildings in Persia. The village of 
Sultaniyyé must formerly have been a flourishing place, but it 
now consists of only a few hovels, which form a sad contrast to 
the ancient splendour of the mosque. 

As to the date when the mosque was built, our guide was 
unable to inform us, but he said that it had been repaired and 
beautified by Shah Khuda-bandé, concerning whom he repeated 
some lines of doggerel, which we had already heard from the 
muleteer, and which ran as follows:— 

“ Fy Shah Khuda-bande, 
Zulm kunandeé, 
Thi ta’ik bir kandé!”? 
“O Shah Khuda-bandé, practiser of tyranny, two fowls to one village!” 
The last line of this is Turkish: what event it alludes to, or what 


its real purport is, | was unable to ascertain. Our guide informed 
us that some time ago a European engineer had spent a week 


FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 83 


at this place, making elaborate plans and drawings of the mosque. 
Having completed our inspection, we offered a small sum of 
money to the old Seyyid who had accompanied us; but he bade 
us give whatever we wished to his son, a little boy, who had also 
followed us. I accordingly gave him two &rdns, which appeared 
to me a sufficient recompense for the amount of trouble we had 
given, but the Seyyid seemed to be of a different opinion, re- 
marking that it was ‘“‘a very trivial sum for people of distinction.” 
I asked him what reason he had for supposing that we were 
“people of distinction,” to which he only replied that we were 
“‘ mukhtdr’’—ftee to do as we pleased. 

Besides the mosque and the palace, there are several little 
imdmzddés at Sultaniyyé, and I was anxious to remain another 
day to examine these. Farach, however, appeared to divine my 
intention and took pains to frustrate it, for he avoided me all 
the evening, instead of coming in after supper, as he usually did, 
to discuss the events of the day, and sent off all the baggage early 
in the morning, so that we had no course open to us but to 
proceed. After another uneventful stage, we reached our next 
halting-place of Khurram-dére—a pretty village situated on a 
river, surrounded by poplars and willows—about 4.30 p.m. Here, 
as usual, we were very hospitably received by the villagers, two 
of whom came out some distance to meet us and conduct us to 
their house, where we were lodged in a very good upper room, 
thickly carpeted, and furnished with eight large windows pro- 
vided with shutters. 

Next day we started early, the muleteers pretending that they 
would try to reach Kazvin that evening, which, as I believe, they 
had from the first no intention of doing. Our road ran towards 
the north-east in the direction of a low range of hills. On teach- 
ing the highest point of the ridge we could see before us the 
mighty range of the Elburz mountains, which separates Persian 
‘Irak from the humid, richly-wooded provinces bordering on the 
Caspian Sea. Between us and these mountains lay a wide, flat, 

6-2 


84 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 


stony plain, in which the position of Kazvin was clearly indicated 
by the thin pall of blue smoke which hung over it. Towards this 
plain our road now began to descend, and in a few minutes we 
attived at the village of Kirishkin, where the muleteers an- 
nounced their intention of halting for the night—a decision from 
which it was impossible to move them, and to which I was in 
gteat measute reconciled by the kindly welcome given to us by 
the inhabitants. Here, indeed, a marked change was observable 
in the people, who appeared much brighter, more intelligent, 
and mote amiable than the natives of Adharbayj4n. The latter, 
with their scowling faces and furtive gray eyes,.are not popular 
amongst the Persians, whose opinion about the inhabitants of 
their metropolis, Tabriz, is expressed in the following rhyme:— 
“Zi Labrizt bi-juz hizi na-bint: 
Hamdan bibtar ki Tabrizi na-bini.” 
“From a Tabrizi thou wilt see naught but rascality: 
Even this is best, that thou shouldst not see a Tabrizi.” 
The change in the appearance of the people is accompanied by 
a change in language, for this was the first place we came to at 
which the Persian tongue appeared to preponderate over the 
Turkish. 

_ At this village we obtained the most sumptuous quarters in 
a large room, twenty-five feet long by fifteen wide, thickly 
spread with carpets. A few works of Persian poetry, placed in 
niches in the wall, showed that our entertainers united a taste 
for literature with a love of comfort. In the course of the 
evening we received a visit from our host and his sons. One of 
the latter—the one to whom the books chiefly belonged—was 
a bright intelligent youth who discussed the merits of various 
Persian and Turkish poets with great zest. I was much amused 
at one rematk which he made. Speaking of the recently-con- 
cluded /a‘x7yas (dramatic representations of various moving 
episodes in the lives of the Prophet and his successors), and 
especially of the scene wherein the “Firangi ambassador” at 


FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 85 


the court of Damascus, moved by the misfortunes and patience 
of the captive believers, embraces Islam, and is put to death by 
the cruel tyrant Yezid, he said, “‘How I wish you had come here 
a little earlier, for then we could have borrowed your hats and 
clothes for the Firangis, and indeed you might have even taught 
us some words of your language to put in the mouths of the 
actors who personated them. As it was, not knowing anything 
of the tongue of the Firangis, we had to make the actors who 
represented them talk Turkish, which seemed to us the nearest 
approach possible to Firangi speech.” 

Next day we reached Kazvin after a short stage, during which 
we descended into the plain of which I have already spoken. Here 
we intended to halt for a day to see the town, which is of con- 
siderable size and contains many fine buildings. Amongst these 
is a mihmdn-khdné, ot guest-house, which is one of a series con- 
structed between Enzeli and Teheran, and thence as far south as 
Kum. At this, however, we did not put up, as I was anxious 
to cling for a few days longer to the more Oriental abodes to 
which I had become not only accustomed, but attached, and which 
I foresaw would have to be abandoned on reaching Teheran in 
favour of more civilised modes of existence. Unfortunately, our 
muleteers, either through indifference or ignorance, took us to 
a vety poor catavansaray, far inferior in comfort to the quarters 
which we had enjoyed since leaving Zanjan, where we had 
suffered in a similar way. Indeed it is usually the case that the 
traveller (unless provided with introductions) fares less well in 
the towns than in the villages. 

We spent most of the following day in wandering through 
the bazaars and examining the appearance of the town and its 
inhabitants. The bazaars were much like those which we had 
already seen at Khuy, Tabriz, and Zanjan; but as regards the 
people, the advantage was decidedly in favour of the Kazvinis, 
who ate more pleasing in countenance, more gentle in manners, 
and rather darker in complexion than the Adharbayjanis. Persian 


86 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 


is spoken by them universally, but almost all understand Turkish 
as well. 

The toad from Resht to Teheran, which is the route usually 
taken by those entering Persia from Europe, passes through 
Kazvin. This toad we now joined, and by it we proceeded to the 
capital, accomplishing the journey thither in three days. As it 
is probably the best known and the least interesting of all the 
roads in Persia, I will not describe it in detail, and will only 
notice certain points which appear worthy of mention. 

First of all the mihmdn-khdnés, ot guest-houses, of which I 
have already spoken, merit a few words. They were built, I 
believe, by order of Nasiru’d-Din Shah on his return from his first 
visit to Europe. They ate intended to afford the traveller by the 
ordinary route to the capital greater comfort and better accom- 
modation than are obtainable in caravansartays, and to fulfil in 
some degree the functions of a hotel. I cannot say that I was at 
all favourably impressed by these institutions, at the first of 
which, called Kishlakh, we arrived on the evening of the day of 
out departure from Kazvin (zoth November). It is true that they 
ate well built, and stand in gardens pleasantly surrounded by 
trees; that the rooms are furnished with European beds, chairs, 
and tables; and that cooked food can he obtained from the 
attendants. But these advantages are, to my mind, far more than 
counterbalanced by the exorbitance of the charges and the in- 
solence of the servants, which contrasted painfully with the ready 
hospitality, genial courtesy, and slight demands of the villagers 
in whose humble but cleanly homes we had hitherto generally 
found a resting-place at the end of our day’s journey. 

The mihmdn-khdné, in short, has all the worst defects of a 
European hotel without its luxury. Let me briefly describe our 
experiences at one—that of Kishlakh—as a specimen which will 
serve for all. On our first arrival we are discourteously told that 
there is no room. Remonstrances and requests are alike useless, 
sO we prepare to move on and try to find a village where we can 


FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 87 


halt for the night, which is now rapidly advancing. We have 
hardly started, after a considerable delay to allow of the baggage- 
animals coming up, when a man runs after us and informs us 
that there zs room. No explanation or apology is offered for the 
previous statement, but, as no other habitation is in sight, we 
decide to turn back. On dismounting, we ate conducted to a 
room littered up, rather than furnished, with several beds, a 
number of cane-bottomed chairs, and a table or two. The win- 
dows are furnished with tawdty curtains; the walls are bedecked 
with tinselled mirrors and gaudy pictures; while on the washing- 
stand a single ragged tooth-brush is ostentatiously displayed by 
the side of a clothes-brush, which would seem to be intended to 
serve as a hair-brush as well. 

While contemplating this chaos of luxury, and meditating 
somewhat sadly on the unhappy effect produced in Eastern lands 
by the adoption of Western customs, I became aware of a stir 
outside, and, rushing out, was just in time to see the Imdm-Fum'a, 
ot chief ecclesiastic, of Tabriz drive up in a carriage followed by 
a number of attendants in other vehicles. By the side of the road 
lay the bleeding carcase of a sheep, whose throat had just been 
cut to do honour to the approaching dignitary. This not very 
graceful custom is common in Persia, and Mr Abbott, the British 
Consul at Tabriz, informed me that he had great difficulty in 
preventing its performance whenever he returned to Persia after 
an absence in Europe. 

Before we tetited for the night—not on the unattractive- 
looking beds, but, as usual, on our Wolseley valises—we re- 
ceived another proof of the advance of European ideas in the 
neighbourhood of the capital in the form of a d#// (a thing which 
we had not seen since we left Erzeroum), in which two krdus 
were charged for “‘service,”’ which charge the bearer of the docu- 
ment was careful to inform us was not intended to prevent us 
from bestowing on him a further gratuity. The total amount of 
the bill was eight Ardus—not much, indeed, but about double 


88 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 


the sum which we had usually expended for a night’s lodging 
hitherto—and we wete requested to settle it the same evening— 
_a tequest which showed that a becoming suspicion of one’s 
fellow-creatures was amongst the European “improvements” 
introduced by the mihmdn-khdnés. 

The muleteers, who had been compelled to pay an exorbitant 
ptice for food for their animals, were not less disgusted than 
ourselves, and declared that they would henceforth avoid mz/- 
man-khdnés entirely. Next day, accordingly, passing two of these, 
we made a long stage, and halted about nightfall at a walled 
village called Kal‘a-i-Im4m-Jum‘a, where we were assured by 
Farach that we should find “‘everything that our hearts desired.” 
Unless he fancied that our hearts would desire nothing but melon- 
peel, which was scattered freely about the floor of the little cell 
where we took up our quarters, Farach’s promise must have 
been dictated less by a strict regard for truth than by a fear of 
being compelled by us to halt at a mihmdn-khdné. However, we 
eventually succeeded in obtaining some bread from a kindly 
Persian who had become cognisant of our need, and with this, 
and the last remains of the preserved meats bought at Trebi- 
zonde, we managed to appease our hunger, consoling ourselves 
with the thought that this would be our last night in the wilder- 
ness for the present, and that on the mortow we should be 
amongst the fleshpots of Teheran. 

Next morning we were astir early, for the excitement of being 
so neat the Persian capital made sloth impossible. Yet to me at 
least this excitement was not free from a certain tinge of sorrow 
at the thought that I must soon bid farewell to the faithful 
Farach, whom, notwithstanding his occasional obstinacy and 
intractability, I had learned to like. Moreover, difficult as may 
be the transition from European to Asiatic life, the return is 
scarcely easier. I sighed inwardly at the thought of exchanging 
the free, unconstrained, open-air existence of the caravan for 
the restraints of society and the trammels of town life; and it was 


FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 89 


only when I reflected on the old friends I should see again, and 
the new friends I hoped to make, that I felt quite reconciled to 
the change before me. 

This day’s march was the most interesting since leaving 
Kazvin. ‘To the north, on our left hand, towered the long range 
of the Elburz mountains, much loftier and bolder in outline here 
than at their western extremity; nor had we proceeded far when 
there burst suddenly on our view the majestic snow-capped cone 
of Mount Demavend, whete, as ancient legend runs, the tyrant- 
patricide, Zahhak, lies bound in chains. At the base of this giant 
wall are gentler slopes, covered with villages which serve as a 
summer tetreat to the more opulent when the heat of the capital 
has become intolerable. Near the road for some distance runs 
the river Karach, bright and rippling; while, to the south of this, 
numerous little villages set with poplars diversify the monotony 
of the gray stony plain. Once or twice we passed bands of soldiers 
returning from their military service to their homes in Adhar- 
bayjan, and then a mighty caravan of 111 camels wending its 
slow course westwards. Then, all at once, our eyes were dazzled 
by flashes of light reflected from an object far away towards the 
south, which shone like gold in the sun. This I at first imagined 
must be the situation of the capital, but I was mistaken; it was 
the dome of the holy shrine of Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim, situated five 
ot six miles south of Teheran, which, lying as it does somewhat 
in a hollow, is not clearly seen until it is almost reached. At 
length, however, at a little roadside tea-house, where we halted 
for refreshment, we came in sight of it. 

Many such tea-houses formerly existed in the capital, but 
most of them were closed some time ago by order of the Shah. 
The reason commonly alleged for this proceeding is that they 
wete supposed to encoutage extravagance and idleness, or, as 
I have also heard said, evils of a more serious kind. Outside 
the town, however, some of them are still permitted to continue 
their trade and provide the “bond fide traveller” with tefresh- 


90 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 


ment, which, needless to say, does not include wine orf 
spirits. 

At length, about sunset, we entered the city by the Derwazé-7- 
Naw (New Gate), and here we were accosted by one Yusuf ‘Alf, 
who, though he wore the Persian dress, was, as he proudly 
informed us, a British subject of Indian nationality. We asked 
him what accommodation was to be found in Teheran. He 
replied that there were two hotels, one kept by a family called 
Prevost, of French or Swiss extraction, the other by a man called 
Albert, and advised us to go to the latter, because it was cheaper. 
As, however, we purposed making a sojourn of some length in 
the capital, and the comfort of out abode was therefore a matter 
of more importance than when we were halting only for a night 
ot two, we determined to inspect both places on the following 
day, and in the meantime, as it was now late, to take up tem- 
potaty quarters at a caravansaray situated not far from the gate 
whereby we had entered. 








CHAPTER V 


TEHERAN 


“There was a most ingenious Architect, who had contrived a new Method 
for building Houses, by beginning at the Roof, and working downwards to 
the Foundation, which he justified to me, by the like Practice of those two 
prudent Insects, the Bee and the Spider.” —(Sz/t.) 


ITHERTO I have, in describing my travels, followed 

pretty closely the journals which I kept during their con- 
tinuance, only amplifying such things as appeared unfamiliar or 
interesting, and suppressing or abridging entries which I deemed 
to be of consequence to no one but myself. Now, however, 
a different plan becomes necessary; for since I continued at the 
Persian capital for about ten weeks, and since many days passed 
uneventfully, either in study or in conversation with friends and 
acquaintances, a full record of this period would necessarily be 
both prolix and unprofitable. I shall therefore include in this 
chapter all that I have to say about the people, topography, in- 
stitutions, public buildings, gardens, squares, palaces, mosques, 
and educational establishments of Teheran, to which I shall add 
a short notice on the royal family, a description of some enter- 
tainments to which I was admitted as a guest, and a few anec- 
dotes illustrative of the Persian genius and character. 

Now, my stay at Teheran was divided into two periods, 
differing somewhat in character. During the first, which began 
on the second day after our arrival (24th November), and ended 
with the departure of my companion H on 29th December, 
we lodged at Prevost’s Hotel, and were for the most part occupied 
with sight-seeing and social distractions, from both of which 
we derived much profit and pleasure. But when we had become 





92 TEHERAN 


thus generally conversant with the life of the capital, H——, 
who had no special interest in the language, literature, or science 
of the Persians, and whose time was, moreover, limited, desired 
to continue his journey to the Persian Gulf; while I, finding at 
Teheran facilities for the prosecution of my studies which I was 
unwilling to let slip, wished to remain there. So, finding our 
objects incompatible, we wete compelled to separate. He left 
Teheran for the south on 29th December, taking with him our 
Turkish servant ‘Ali, who was unwilling to remain in Persia 
longer than he could help, since he found the people and the 
climate equally uncongenial. These, then, journeyed gradually 
southwards, halting for a while at the chief towns through which 
they passed, until about the beginning of April they reached 
Bushire, and thence took ship homewards. 

Soon after their departure, about the beginning of the new 
year (1888), I was invited by my friend the Nawwab Mirza 
Hasan ‘Ali Khan, a Persian nobleman whose acquaintance I had 
made in London, to take up my abode with him in a house which 
he had rented near the English Embassy. Of this kind offer I 
vety gratefully availed myself, and continued for the remainder 
of my stay in Teheran (ze. till 7th February 1888) an inmate of 
his house, to my great pleasure and advantage. For my whole 
desire was, as my host well knew, to obtain as full an insight as 
possible into Persian life; and though he was thoroughly con- 
versant with the English language, yet, out of regard for me, he 
rately talked with me save in Persian, except that in the evening 
he would sometimes ask me to tead with him a chapter of 
Carlyle’s Heroes and Hero-Worship, which work, by reason of the 
favourable opinion of the Prophet Muhammad entertained by 
the author, is very highly esteemed by Muhammadans acquainted 
with English. Moreover most of my host’s visitors and all his 
servants were Persian, and spoke, for the most part, only Persian 
(though his younger brother, an officer in the Persian army, and 
two of his nephews, whom I had known in London, had been 


TEHERAN 93 


educated partly in England and spoke English extremely well), 
so that I was not only able but forced to make much progress 
in speaking and understanding. And during all this time I was 
able to benefit by the teaching of a very able scholar, Mirza 
Asadu’llah of Sabzaw4r, a pupil of the late Haji Mulla Hadi of 
Sabzawar, the greatest philosopher whom Persia has produced 
during the nineteenth century. Thus was I enabled to obtain some 
insight into the philosophical doctrines current in Persia, of 
which I shall say something in the next chapter. 

The European colony in Teheran is considerable, and the 
society which it affords equally remarkable for distinction and 
hospitality. It comprises the corps diplomatique attached to the 
different embassies (and almost every European nation of note 
is represented, as well as the United States of America); the staff 
of the Indo-European Telegraph; the American missionaries; 
several merchants and men of business; and a few Europeans 
employed in the Persian service. From many of these I received 
much hospitality and kindness, which I shall not soon forget, 
~ and on which I would gladly dwell did I feel justified in so doing. 
But my business at present is not to attempt an inadequate dis- 
charge of personal obligations (a discharge, moreover, which 
would probably be unacceptable to those to whom I am so 
indebted), but to depict with such fidelity as I may the life, 
character, and customs of the Persians. Of the European colony, 
then, I will say no more than this, that it is associated in my mind 
with every feeling of gratitude and every pleasant remembrance 
which kindness and hospitality received in a strange land can 
evoke in the heart or impress on the mind of the recipient. 

Teheran, as everyone knows, was not always the capital of 
Persia. In the most ancient days the province of Fars, or Persia 
proper, and at a later time Isfahan, generally enjoyed this dignity. 
At other times, when, on the decay of some great dynasty, the 
empire was split up into numerous fragments, princes of different 
dynasties often reigned over one or two provinces, fixing the 


94 TEHERAN 


seat of government at the most important town in their domi- 
nions. Under the Safavi kings, when the ancient greatness of 
Persia enjoyed a temporary revival, it was Isfahan which was 
graced by their splendid court. About a century ago, when 
the great struggle between the Zend dynasty and the family 
of the Kajars was in progress, the former, represented by 
the noble and generous Karim Khan, had its capital at Shiraz, 
while the latter, personified by that atrocious and bloodthirsty 
tyrant Aké Muhammad Khan, fixed their headquarters at 
Teheran. On the final victory of the latter, the northern city, 
situated as it is near the lands from which sprung the originally 
Turkish tribe of the Kajars, was definitely raised to the rank of 
capital, and has enjoyed this dignity ever since, while each of the 
three kings who succeeded the founder of the dynasty further 
exerted himself to enlarge and beautify the city. 

Teheran, as it is at present, is a large town lying in a slight 
hollow, just sufficient to prevent its being seen from any distance 
on the plain; roughly speaking circular in shape; and entirely 
surrounded by walls of unbaked clay, and for the most part by 
a ditch as well. Access is given to the interior by twelve gates, 
which are as follows:— 


Between the north and the east— 


1. The Derwazé-i-Behjetabad, } leading to the gardens, palaces, and 
2. The Derwazé-i-Dawlat, villages situated to the north of the 
3. The Derwdzé-i-Shimrdn, | city on the slopes of Elburz. 


Between the east and south— 


4. The Derwdzé-i-Dawshdn-tepé, leading to the Shah’s hunting- 
palace of Dawshan-tepé (“ Hare-hill”’). 

5. The Derwdzé-i-Dulab (“the Mill Gate”). 

6. The Derwdzé-i-Mashhad (“the Mashhad Gate”). 


Between the south and west— 


7. The Derwdzé-i-Shab-‘ Abdu’l-“Azxim (through which passes the 
great caravan road to the south). 

8. The Derwaxé-i-Ghar (“the Cave Gate”). 

9. The Derwdzé-i-Naw (“the New Gate’’). 


TEHERAN 95 


Between the west and north— 


10. The Derwézé-i-Gumruk (“the Custom-house Gate”). 
11. The Derwdzé-i-Kazvin (“the Kazvin Gate’’). 
12. The Derwdzé-i-Asp-davini (“the Race-course Gate’’). 

To the north of the city are numerous gardens; some, like 
Behjetabad and Yusufabad, situated within a short walk of the 
walls; some in the villages of Shimran, like Kulahak and Tajrish, 
which serve as summer retreats to the Europeans and rich 
Persians, distant five or six miles from the town; and others yet 
mote distant, on the slopes of Elburz. Some of the gardens 
belonging to the royal family are very beautifully laid out, as, 
for example, the garden called Kdmrdniyyé, which is the property 
of the Shah’s third son, the Na’ibu’s-Saltana. The Persians take 
the greatest delight in their gardens, and show more pride in 
exhibiting them to the stranger than in pointing out to him their 
finest buildings. Yet to one accustomed to the gardens of the 
West they appear, as a rule, nothing very wonderful. They 
generally consist of a square enclosure surrounded by a mud wall, 
planted with rows of poplar trees in long straight avenues, and 
intersected with little streams of water. The total absence of 
erass seems their greatest defect in the eyes of a European, but 
apart from this they do not, as a rule, contain a great variety of 
flowers, and, except in the spring, present a very bare appearance. 
But in the eyes of the Persian, accustomed to the naked stony 
plains which constitute so large a portion of his country, they 
appear as veritable gardens of Eden, and he will never be happier 
than when seated under the shade of a poplar by the side of the 
stream, sipping his tea and smoking his ka/ydn. What I have 
said applies to the great majority of gardens in Persia, but not 
to all; for some of those in Shiraz are very beautiful, and, except 
for the lack of the well-trimmed lawns which we regard as so 
indispensable to the perfect beauty of a garden, might well defy 
all competition. 

Many of the gardens near Teheran are cultivated by ‘‘Guebres,” 


96 TEHERAN 


the remnant of the ancient faith of Zoroaster. The headquarters 
of Zoroastrianism in Persia are at Yezd and Kirman, in and about 
which cities there may be in all some 7ooo ot 8000 adherents of 
the old creed. In other towns they are met with but sparingly, 
and ate not distinguished by the dull yellow dress and loosely- 
wound yellow turban which they are compelled to wear in the 
two cities above-mentioned. As I shall speak of this interesting 
people at some length when I come to describe my stay amongst 
them in the only two places in Persia where they still exist in any 
numbers, I will not at present dwell on their characteristics 
further than to allude briefly to their dakhmé, or “tower of 
silence,” situated two or three miles south of Teheran, on one 
of the rocky spurs of the jagged mountain called Kuh-i-Bibi 
Shahr-banu. 

Bibi Shahr-bani was the daughter of the unfortunate Yez- 
digird III, whose sad fate it was to see the mighty empire of the 
Sasanians and the ancient religion of Zoroaster fall in one 
common ruin before the savage onslaught of the hitherto de- 
spised Arabs, ere he himself, a hunted fugitive, perished by the 
hand of a treacherous miller in whose house he had taken refuge. 
The daughter subsequently married Huseyn, the son of ‘Ali, thus 
uniting the royal blood of the house of S4san with the holy race 
of the Im4ms and the kindred of the Arabian prophet. To this 
union is perhaps to be attributed in some degree the enthusiasm 
with which the Persians, bereft of their old religion, espoused 
the cause of ‘Ali and his successors (or in other words the Shi‘ite 
faction of the Muhammadans) against the usurpations of those 
whom the Sunnis dignify with the title of Khalifa, or vicegerent 
of the Prophet. After the calamities suffered by the family of ‘Ali 
at the hands of their ruthless foes, Bibi Shahr-banu is said to have 
fled to Persia, and to have found a refuge from her oppressors 
in the mountain just to the south of Teheran which still bears 
her name. It is said that the place where she hid is still marked 
by a shrine which has the miraculous property of being in- 


TEHERAN 97 


accessible to men, though women may visit it unimpeded. Where 
this shrine is I do not know, neither did I make any attempt to 
test the truth of the legend. 

The Guebtes’ dakhmé is situated midway up a sharp ridge 
which descends from the summit of this mountain on the 
northern side, and is a conspicuous object from a distance. It 
consists of a circular tower of clay or unbaked brick, of the 
grayish colour common to all buildings in Persia. The wall, 
which is provided with no door or gate, is about forty-five feet 
high on the outside; inside (as we could see by ascending the 
spur on which it stands toa point which overlooks it) its height, 
owing to the raised floor, is probably not more than ten feet. 
The floor of the tower consists of a level surface broken at 
regular intervals by rectangular pits. Whenever a Zoroastrian 
dies, his body is conveyed hither, and deposited by two of his 
co-treligionists (set apart for this duty) inside the dakhmé and over 
one of these pits. The carrion birds which hover round this 
dreary spot soon swoop down, tear it in pieces, and devour its 
flesh, till nothing is left but the disarticulated bones, which fall 
into the pit below. Little, therefore, remains to tell of those 
who have been laid in this charnel-house; and from the ridge 
above, where I could see almost the whole of the interior, I 
counted not mote than two skulls and a few long bones. Of 
course the total number of Zoroastrians in Teheran is very small, 
and the deaths do not probably exceed two or three a year, which 
may to some extent explain the paucity of remains in the dakhmé. 
Yezd and Kirmdn have each two dakhmés, similarly constructed, 
and situated in like manner on the spurs of mountains at a 
distance of several miles from the city. These five dakhmés con- 
stitute, so far as I know, the total number now in use in Persia. 
This method of disposing of the dead often strikes Europeans 
as vety disgusting, and, indeed, it would clearly be inapplicable 
to a thickly-populated, flat country with a humid atmosphere. 
In Persia, however, where the air is so clear, the sun so strong, 

B 7 


98 TEHERAN 


the population so sparse, and mountains so numerous, I can well 
imagine that no inconvenience was caused by its adoption, even 
in the days when the whole population was Zoroastrian. 

Neat the mouth of the valley which lies to the north of the 
Kuh-i-Bibi Shahr-b4nu, and on the opposite side to the dakhmé, 
is a tablet cut in the tock (in rough imitation of the ancient 
monuments about Persepolis), bearing the figure of a king, and 
an inscription in modern Persian. Though of such recent date, 
it possesses none of the clearness still discernible in its Sasanian 
prototypes, and the writing on it is already almost illegible. 

Below this, at the end of the valley, are to be seen the remains 
of gigantic mud walls, which are said to have formed a portion 
of the ancient city of Rey (Rhages), though by some this 1s 
supposed to have lain farther from Teheran towards the east, 
near the present village of Varamin. Rather nearer to the Shah 
‘Abdw’l-“Azim toad (which crosses the mouth of the valley at 
right angles) are two high brick towers, one of which is called 
the Tower of Toghrul. 

Of the little town of Shah ‘Abdu’l‘Azim itself, which is 
chiefly notable for its very fine mosque and its very detestable 
population (the place being what is called “bast,” that is, a 
sanctuary or city of refuge, where all criminals are safe from 
pursuit), I shall have something to say in another chapter. It 
was to this place that the railway of which such great things were 
expected, and which it was hoped might be extended farther 
south—pethaps even to the Persian Gulf—was laid from 
Teheran. When I returned there in the autumn of 1888 on my 
way home, this railway was open, and was running some eight 
ot ten trains a day each way. Its prosperity, alas! was short-lived: 
before the end of the year it was torn up and completely wrecked 
by a mob, exasperated at the accidental death of a man who had 
tried to leap from the train while it was in motion. 

That the friends of this man, whose death was brought about 
solely by his own folly and rashness, acted unreasonably in 


TEHERAN 99 


revenging themselves on the railway I do not for a moment wish 
to deny. That the deep-seated prejudice against this and other 
European innovations which found its manifestation in this act 
is equally unreasonable, I am not, however, disposed to admit. 
I think that the jealousy with which the Persian people are 
prone to regard these railways, tramways, monopolies, con- 
cessions, and companies, of which so much has been heard lately, 
is both natural and reasonable. These things, so far as they are 
sources of wealth at all, are so, not to the Persian people, but to 
the Shah and his ministers on the one hand, and to the European 
promoters of the schemes on the other. People who reason 
about them in Europe too often suppose that the interests of the 
Shah and of his subjects are identical, when they are in fact 
generally diametrically opposed; and that the Shah is an en- 
lightened monarch, eager for the welfare and progress of a 
stubborn and refractory people who delight in thwarting his 
benevolent schemes, when in reality he is a selfish despot, devoid 
of public spirit, careful only of his own personal comfort and 
advantage, and most averse to the introduction of liberal ideas 
amongst a people whose natural quickness, intelligence, and 
aptitude to learn cause him nothing but anxiety. He does every- 
thing in his power to prevent the diffusion of those ideas which 
conduce to true pregress, and his supposed admiration for civili- 
sation amounts to little more than the languid amusement which 
he derives from the contemplation and possession of mechanical 
playthings and ingenious toys. 

I can only pause to notice one other object of interest outside 
the city walls, to wit, the pleasantly-situated palace of Dawshan- 
tepé (which means in Turkish “Hare-hill”’), where the Shah 
often goes to pursue the chase, to which he is passionately 
devoted. This palace, of dazzling whiteness, stands on an emi- 
nence to the north-east of the town, and forms a very con- 
spicuous feature in the landscape. Besides the palace on the hill, 
there is another in a garden on its southern side, attached to 


7-2 


100 TEHERAN 


which is a small menagerie belonging to the Shah. This collection 
of animals is not very extensive, but includes fine specimens of 
the Persian lion (shir)1, whose most famous haunt is in the forests 
of Dasht-i-Arjin, between Shirdz and Bushire, as well as a few 
tigers (babr), leopards (palang), and baboons (shangdl). 

Having spoken of what is without the city, I must now say 
something about the chief monuments contained within its walls. 
These are very few, and, for the most part, of little interest. 
Teheran is an essentially modern town, and as such lacks the 
charm which invests Isfahan, Shiraz, Yezd, and other Persian 
cities of more respectable antiquity. In the eyes of its own in- 
habitants, however, it appears the we plus ultra of splendour. It 
has two European hotels; it is intersected, especially in the 
northern quarter, by several wide, straight thoroughfares, some 
of which arte even lighted by gas, and one of which certain 
Europeans and their Persian imitators are pleased to designate 
the “Boulevard des Ambassadeuts.” ‘There are also several 
large squares, some of which are embellished with tanks and 
fountains worthy of a sincere admiration. In addition to all this 
the bazaars (situated in the southern quarter) are extensive and 
flourishing; the situation of the town, in full view of the snow- 
capped mountains of Elburz, is unquestionably fine; and the air 
is clear and exhilarating. In a word, it is a pleasant place to stay 
in, rather than an interesting place to see. Nevertheless, some 
of my readers may desire to obtain a clearer notion of what is, 
after all, the present capital of Persia. Let me ask them, then, 
to accompany me in imagination for a stroll through the northern 
quarter of the city, in which are situated most of the parks, 
palaces, and public buildings, all the embassies except the 
Russian, and the residences of almost all the Europeans and many 
of the mote opulent and influential Persians. 


1 I mention this chiefly because this word, mispronounced shér (like 
English “share”), is applied in India to the tiger, which animal is properly 
termed babr in Persian, as stated in the text. 


TEHERAN IOI 


We will begin our walk at the northern end of the Khiydbdn-1- 
‘Alé’u'd-Damla (“Boulevard des Ambassadeuts”’), a fine broad, 
straight avenue, running almost due north and south. Entering 
this from the north through the waste land which intervenes 
(or did intervene in 1887) between it and the Behjetabad 
and Dawlat Gates, we first pass, on the right-hand side, the fine 
garden and buildings of the English Embassy. Lower down on 
the same side are the German and American Legations. Near the 
latter, a street running westwards leads to the church, schools, 
and tesidences of the American missionaries. On the left (east) 
side of the avenue the finest building is the Turkish Embassy, 
rematkable for a magnificent gate adorned with an inscription 
in letters of gold. On the same side are the French and Italian 
Legations, and a little lower down the office of the Indo-Euro- 
pean Telegraph. Beyond this ate a few European shops, as well 
as the two hotels already mentioned; opposite these are several 
more shops, one of which belongs to a photographer—a Russian, 
I believe—who sells excellent photographs at the very cheap 
price of four témdns (about twenty-four shillings) a hundred. 
Below this point, as well as in some places above it, the sides of 
the avenue ate formed by colonnades of brick, within which are 
situated a few small Persian shops, dealing chiefly in groceries. 
Passing under an archway guarded by sentries, we enter the 
north-west corner of the Meyddn-i-Topkhdné, or Artillery Square. 
This is of great size, and is surrounded by barracks, the white 
walls of which are profusely decorated with rude representations 
of the national symbol, the lion and the sun. 

From this square emerge five great streets or avenues; one, 
sometimes called the ‘‘Rue de Gaz,” on the east side; two on the 
south; and two (one of which we have already traversed) on the 
north. Leaving the three which belong to the eastern portion of 
the square for future consideration, we continue in a direct 
- southward line across the western end, and enter another 
avenue, which leads us past some of the Persian Government 


102 TEHERAN 


Offices (the road opposite to which is, during a considerable part 
of the day, blocked by carriages and horses) into a very pretty 
square, well paved and girt with trees, called the Meyddn-7-Arg 
(“Citadel Square”’). The central portion of this is occupied by 
a large basin of water of octagonal shape, surrounded by gas 
lamps. At its southern end is a raised stone platform, on which 
stands a large gun mounted on wheels. This gun is remarkable, 
in common with Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim, the royal stables, and 
sundry other places, as affording sanctuary to those who are 
pursued by the law. It has, indeed, the disadvantage of being 
a very small “‘city of refuge,” and one which would not long be 
tenable; nevertheless, for the time being, the fugitive is safe in 
its shadow. 

Quitting the Meyddén-i-Arg, and traversing a short bazaar 
containing a few small shops, we come out into another broad 
street, which at this point runs at right angles to our path, but 
which, if we turned to the left and followed its course eastwards, 
would be found to bend gradually into a northerly direction, 
and would conduct us back to the Meyddn-i-Topkhdné. By this 
road we propose to return; but before doing so, let us take a 
glance at the intricate mazes of the bazaar. To do this, we cross 
the road and enter a square known as the Sabyé-Meyddn, or “Herb 
Market.”’ In its centre is the usual tank of water, and it is sur- 
rounded by the shops of watchmakers, tobacconists, and other 
tradesmen, mostly of Armenian nationality. We cross towards its 
southern side, and enter the hatmakers’ bazaar (Kaché-i-kulab- 
duzdn), where any variety of Persian head-dress may be put- 
chased, from the light cloth hat affected by the Armenians and 
Europeanised (/rrangi-ma’db) Persians, costing only three or four 
kradns (about two shillings), to the genuine lambskin ku/éh, 
costing thirty, forty, or even fifty krans. 

Having passed the hatmakers, we come to the shoemakers, 
and, if we continue our way perseveringly towards the south, 
we shall eventually arrive at the gate of Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim, 


Sn 


TEHERAN 103 


unless, as may easily happen, we lose our beatings hopelessly 
in the labyrinthine mazes which we must traverse, distracted 
either by a string of majestic camels, past which we contrive to 
edge ourselves, or by a glittering array of antique gems, seals, 
and turquoises, exposed in a case at our very elbow. 

As, however, we have already visited the dakhmé in the 
Mountain of Bibi Shahr-bant and the ruins of Rey, and as we 
shall pass through Shah ‘Abdu’l-“Azim on our journey south- 
wards, it is unnecessary to explore the bazaar any farther at 
present. Bazaars, after all, are much alike, not only in Persia, 
but throughout the Muhammadan world; there are the same 
mote or less tortuous vaulted colonnades, thronged with horses, 
camels, and men; the same cool recesses, in which are successively 
exhibited every kind of merchandise; the same subdued murmur 
and atoma of spices, which form a out ensemble so itresistibly 
attractive, so continually fresh, yet so absolutely similar, whether 
seen in Constantinople or Kirman, Teheran or Tabriz. 

Instead of pursuing our way farther, therefore, we strike to 
the left from the shoemakers’ bazaar, and, without even pausing 
to examine the array of saddles, bridles, whips, saddle-bags, 
leather water-bags, and other travellers’ requisites exhibited to 
our gaze, make for the Bézdr-i-dunbdl-i-khandak, (“Market be- 
hind the moat’’), and, following this for a while, soon emerge 
once more into the broad open street which we crossed at a point 
farther west to reach the Sabyé-Meydan. At the point where we 
have now entered it, it has already begun to assume a northerly 
direction to reach the Meyddn-i-Topkhdné, towards which we again 
bend our steps. On our left we pass the very modern-looking 
palace called Shamsu’l-‘Imara (“the Sun of Architecture”’), with 
its lofty tower, and come to the Daru’/-Funin, ot university. 
Here English, French, Russian, Medicine (both ancient and 
modern), Mathematics, and other useful accomplishments are 
taught on European methods. The students vary in age from 
mere boys to youths of eighteen or nineteen, and are distinguished 


104 TEHERAN 


by a military-looking uniform. They not only receive their 
education free, but are allowed one meal a day and two suits of 
clothes a year at the public expense, besides being rewarded, in 
case of satisfactory progress and good conduct, by a very liberal 
distribution of prizes at the end of the session. Arabic, Theology, 
and Metaphysic do not enter into the curriculum, but are rele- 
gated to the ancient madrasas attached to some of the mosques 
and endowed by pious bequests. The best madrasas, however, 
must be sought for, not in Teheran, but in Isfahan, the former 
capital. 

Just above the Déru’/-Funin is another fine building, intended, 
I believe, to serve as a Central Telegraph Office which shall 
combine the hitherto separated European and Persian branches. 
Not far above this we re-enter the Meyddn-i-Topkhdné, this time 
at the south-east corner. To our right the “Rue de Gaz” emerges 
from the square, and runs eastwards. In it dwells a Turkish 
haircutter of well-deserved fame, but beyond this it possesses 
few features of interest, and we may therefore pass it by, and cross 
to the north-east corner of the square, whence we enter another 
avenue similar to and parallel with the Khiyaban-i-“ Ala’wd- 
Dayla in which we commenced our walk. This avenue is bound- 
ed on the right by a fine garden, the Bdgh-i-Ldlé-zdr (“Garden 
of the Tulip-bed”’), which belonged, I believe, to the talented 
Riza-Kuli Khan, generally known as the La/d-bdshi, or chief 
tutor of the Shah, whose numerous works, varied in matter but 
uniform in merit, are alone sufficient to prove that Persian literary 
ability has not, as some would pretend, ceased to exist. Little 
else besides this claims our attention here, and if we pursue our 
way up this avenue we shall finally reach a point where it is 
crossed by another broad road running at right angles to it. 
This latter, if we follow it to the left, will bring us out where we 
started from, in front of the English Embassy. 

Although the walk just described has led us through most 
of the principal streets and squares, and past a number of the 


TEHERAN 105 


chief buildings and palaces, a few objects of interest which lie 
apart from the route traversed deserve a brief notice. 

First amongst these I will mention—because it can be disposed 
of in a very few words—another large square, called Meyddn-s- 
Mashk (“Drill Square”), which lies to the north-west of the 
Meydan-i-Topkhdné. ‘Though somewhat smaller than the latter, 
it is very spacious, and serves admirably the purpose to which, 
as its name implies, it is appropriated—that of a place d’armes, 
of exercising-ground for the troops. 

Next to this, the palace called Nigdéristdn (‘Picture Gallery”’), 
which was the favourite residence of the second king of the 
Kajar dynasty, Fath-‘Ali Shah, deserves mention. It is situated 
at no great distance from the English Embassy, and derives its 
name from the numerous highly-finished paintings with which 
the walls of some of its chambers are decorated. In the largest 
toom I counted no less than 118 full-length portraits, which 
included not only Fath-‘Ali Shah and his numerous sons and 
ministers, but also the staffs of the French and English Embassies 
(headed respectively by General Gardanne and Sir John Mal- 
colm) then resident at the Persian Court, the names of all these 
being indicated in Persian characters. The portraits, which seem 
to have been carefully and accurately executed, were completed 
in the year A.H. 1228 (A.D. 1812-13) by one ‘Abdu’llah, as is 
witnessed by an inscription placed under them. The only other 
noticeable feature of the Nigdristdn is a beautiful marble bath, 
furnished with a long smooth g/issoire, called by the Persians 
sursurak, (“the slide”), which descends from above to the very 
edge of the bath. Down this slope the numerous ladies of Fath- 
“Ali Shah’s harem used to slide into the arms of their lord, who 
was waiting below to receive them. 

It remains to say a few words about the mosques, which are 
of less interest than those of almost any other Muhammadan 
city of equal size. One of the finest is quite recent, and was, 
indeed, still in process of construction when I visited it. It was 


106 TEHERAN 


commenced by the late Szpahsd/ar, whose career is generally reported 
to have been brought to an abrupt close by a cup of “Kajar 
coffee,” while he was in retirement and disgrace at Mashhad. 
The construction of the mosque, rudely interrupted by this sad 
event, was subsequently resumed by his brother, the Mashiru’d- 
Dawla, whom J had the honour of visiting. He received me with 
the easy couttesy characteristic of the Persian nobleman; ques- 
tioned me as to my studies, the books I had read, and the towns 
I proposed to visit on leaving Teheran; and, after allowing me 
to inspect the various rooms (some furnished in Persian and 
others in European style) in his large and beautiful house, kindly 
sent a setvant with me to show me the mosque, which I might 
otherwise have had difficulty in seeing. The fine large court of 
the mosque, in the centre of which is a tank of water, is sut- 
rounded by lofty buildings, devoted partly to educational, partly 
to religious purposes. On the walls of these is inscribed on tiles 
the wakf-ndmé, or detail of the endowment, in which is set forth 
the number of professors and students of theology and the 
kindred sciences who ate to be maintained within the walls of 
the college. Of the former there were to be four, and of the 
latter, I think, 150. 

It is generally very difficult to visit the interior of mosques 
in Persia; for in this respect the Shi‘ite Muhammadans are much 
mote strict than the Sunnis, and a non-Muslim can, as a rule, 
only enter them in disguise. I once resorted to this expedient 
to obtain a glimpse of another mosque in Teheran, the Masjid-i- 
Shah, which I visited with two of my Persian friends. Although 
we only remained in it for a very short time, we did not wholly 
escape the critical gaze of sundry wu//ds who kept hovering round 
us, and I was not sorry to emerge once mote into the bazaar; 
for the consequences of discovery would have been, to say the 
least of it, disagreeable. From the little I have seen of the in- 
teriors of Persian mosques, I should say that they were decidedly 
less beautiful than those of Constantinople or Cairo. 


ee 


TEHERAN 107 


I have already had occasion to speak of the Daru’/Funin, ot 
university, and I mentioned the fact that it included a school of 
medicine. Through the kindness of Dr Tholozan, the Shah’s 
physician, I was enabled to be present at one of the meetings of 
the Majlis-i-Sibhat (“Congtess of Health,” or Medical Council), 
held once a week within its walls. The assembly was presided 
over by the learned Mukhbiru’d-Dawla, the Minister of Education, 
and there were present at it sixteen of the chief physicians of the 
capital, including the professors of medicine (both the followers 
of Galen and Avicenna, and those of the modern school). The 
discussion was conducted for the most part in Persian, Dr Tholo- 
zan and myself being the only Europeans present; but occasionally 
a few tematks were made in French, with which several of those 
present were conversant. After a little desultory conversation, 
a gteat deal of excellent tea, flavoured with orange-juice, and the 
inevitable ka/ydén, or watet-pipe, the proceedings commenced 
with a report on the death-rate of Teheran, and the chief causes 
of mortality. This was followed by a clear and scientific account 
of a case of acute ophthalmia successfully treated by inoculation, 
the merits of which plan of treatment were then compared with 
the results obtained by the use of jequirity, called in Persian 
chashm-i-kburds, and in Arabic ‘aynu’d-dik, both of which terms 
signify “cock’s eye.” Reports were then read on the death-rates 
and causes of mortality at some of the chief provincial towns. 
According to these, Kirmanshah suffered chiefly from ague, 
dysentery, and small-pox, while in Isfahan, Kirman, and Shahrid, 
typhus, or typhoid, joined its ravages to those of the above- 
mentioned diseases. My faith in these reports was, however, 
somewhat shaken when I subsequently learned that they were in 
great measure derived from information supplied by those whose 
business it is to wash the corpses of the dead. Some account was 
next given of a fatal hemorrhagic disease which had lately deci- 
mated the Yomut Turkmans. As these wild nomads appeared 
to entertain an unconquerable aversion to medical men, no 


108 TEHERAN 


scientific investigation of this outbreak had been possible. 
Finally, a large stone, extracted by lithotomy, was exhibited by 
a Persian surgeon; and after a little general conversation the 
meeting finally broke up about 5 p.m. I was very favourably 
impressed with the proceedings, which were, from first to last, 
characterised by order, courtesy, and scientific method; and from 
the enlightened efforts of this centre of medical knowledge I 
confidently anticipate considerable sanitary and hygienic reforms 
in Persia. Already in the capital these efforts have produced a 
marked effect, and there, as well as to a lesser extent in the pro- 
vinces, the old Galenic system has begun to give place to the 
modern theory and practice of medicine. 

Having now spoken of the topography, buildings, and in- 
stitutions of the capital, it behoves me to say something about 
its social aspects. I begin naturally with the royal family. 

Of Nasiru’d-Din Shah, the reigning king, I have already said 
something. His appearance has been rendered so familiar in 
Europe by his three visits to the West, that of it I need hardly 
speak. He has had a long reign, if not a very glorious one, for 
he was crowned at Teheran on 2oth October 1848, and there 
seems every likelihood that he will live to celebrate his jubilee. 
He came to the throne very young, being not much more than 
seventeen or eighteen years of age. Before that time he had 
resided at Tabriz as governor of the province of Adharb4yjan, an 
office always conferred by K4jar sovereigns on the Crown Prince. 
The Kajars, as I have already said, are of Turkish origin, and the 
language of Adharbayjan is also a dialect of Turkish; whence it 
came about that Nasiru’d-Din Shah, on his accession, could 
scarcely express himself at all in Persian—a fact to which 
Dr Polak, about that time his court physician, bears testimony. 
Even now, though he habitually speaks and writes Persian, and 
has even composed and published some poems in that language, 
he prefers, I believe, to make use of Turkish in conversation 
with such of his intimates as understand it. 


TEHERAN 109 


I wish to insist on the fact that the reigning dynasty of the 
Kajats are essentially of Turkish race, because it is often over- 
looked, and because it is of some political importance. When 
the Shah was in England, for instance, certain journals were 
pleased to speak of him as a “‘descendant of Cyrus,” which is 
about as reasonable as if one should describe our own Prince of 
Wales as a descendant of King Arthur. The whole history of 
Persia, from the legendary wars between the Kiyanian kings and 
Afrasiyab down to the present day, is the story of a struggle 
between the Turkish races whose primitive home is in the region 
east of the Caspian Sea and north of Khurdsan on the one hand, 
and the southern Persians, of almost pure Aryan race, on the 
other. The distinction is well marked even now, and the old 
antipathy still exists, finding expression in verses such as those 
quoted above at p. 84, and in anecdotes illustrative of Turkish 
stupidity and dullness of wit, of which I shall have occasion to 
give one ina subsequent chapter. Ethnologically, therefore, there 
is a marked distinction between the people of the north and the 
people of the south—a distinction which may be most readily 
apprehended by comparing the sullen, moody, dull-witted, fan- 
atical, violent inhabitants of Adharbayjan with the bright, versatile, 
clever, sceptical, rather timid townsfolk of Kirman. In Fars, also, 
good types of the Aryan Persian are met with, but there is a 
large admixture of Turkish tribesmen, like the Kashka’is, who 
have migrated and settled there. Indeed this intermixture has 
now extended very far, but in general the terms “northern” and 
“southern” may, with reservation, be taken as representing a 
real and significant difference of type in the inhabitants of Persia. 
Since the downfall of the Caliphate and the lapse of the Arabian 
supremacy, the Turkish has generally been the dominant race; 
for in the physical world it is commonly physical force which 
wins the day, and dull, dogged courage bears down versatile 
and subtle wit. Thus it happens that to-day the Kajars rule over 
the kinsmen of Cyrus and Shapur, as ruled in earlier days the 


110 TEHERAN 


Ghaznavids and the Seljuks. But there is no love lost between 
the two traces, as anyone will admit who has taken the trouble 
to find out what the southern peasant thinks of the northern 
court, or how the Kajars regard the cradle of Persia’s ancient 
greatness. 

Of the Shah’s character I do not propose to add much to what 
I have said already, for, in the first place, I am conscious of a 
ptejudice against him in my mind arising from the ineffaceable 
remembrance of his horrid cruelties towards the Babis; and, in 
the second place, I enjoyed no unusual facilities for forming a 
weighty judgment. I have heard him described by a high English 
official, who had good opportunities of arriving at a just opinion, 
as a liberal-minded and enlightened monarch, full of manliness, 
energy, and sound sense, who, in a most difficult situation, had 
displayed much tact and wisdom. It must also be admitted that, 
apart from the severities practised against the Babis (which, with 
alternate remissions and exacerbations, have continued from the 
beginning of his reign down to the present time), his rule has 
been, on the whole, mild, and comparatively free from the 
ctuelties which mar nearly every page of Persian history. During 
the latter part of his reign, especially, executions and cruel 
punishments, formerly of almost daily occurrence, have become 
very rare; but this is partly to be attributed to the fear of European 
public opinion, and desire to be thought well of at Western 
courts and in Western lands, which exercise so strong an in- 
fluence over his mind. 

For most of the more recent Babi persecutions the Shah was 
not directly responsible. It was his eldest son, the Zillu’s-Sultan, 
who put to death the two “Martyrs of Isfahan” in 1879, and 
Mirza Ashraf of Abddé in 1888; and it was in his jurisdiction 
(though during his absence) that the persecutions of Sih-dih and 
Najaf-abad occurred in the summer of 18891; while the cruel 


1 See Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for 1889, pp. 998-9; and voll. ii 
of my Tvaveller’s Narrative, pp. 400-412. 


TEHERAN III 


murder of seven innocent Babis at Yezd in May 1890 lies at the 
door of Prince Jalalu’d-Dawla, son of the Zillu’s-Sultan, and 
grandson of the Shah. The last Babi put to death actually by the 
Shah’s order was, I think, the young messenger, Mirza Badi‘, who 
brought from Acte, and delivered into the king’s own hands at 
Teheran, the remarkable apology for the Babi faith addressed to 
him by Beha’u’llah:. This was in July 1869. 

In extenuation of the earlier and more wholesale persecutions, 
it has been urged that the Babis were in rebellion against the 
Crown, and that the most horrible of them, that of September 
1852, was provoked by the attempt made by three Babis on the 
Shah’s life. But this attempt itself (apart from the fact that, so 
far as can be ascertained, it was utterly unauthorised on the part 
of the Babi leaders) was caused by the desperation to which the 
Babis had been driven by a long series of cruelties, and especially 
by the execution of their Founder in 18502. Amongst the victims, 
also, were several persons who, inasmuch as they had been in 
captivity for many months, were manifestly innocent of com- 
plicity in the plot, notably the beautiful Kurratu’l-“Ayn, whose 
heroic fortitude under the most cruel tortures excited the admira- 
tion and wonder of Dr Polak®, the only European, probably, 
who witnessed her death. 

These executions were not merely criminal, but foolish. The 
barbarity of the persecutors defeated its own ends, and, instead 
of inspiring terror, gave the martyrs an opportunity of ex- 
hibiting a heroic fortitude which has done more than any propa- 
ganda, however skilful, could have done to ensure the triumph 
of the cause for which they died. Often have I heard Persians 
who did not themselves belong to the proscribed sect tell with 
admiration how Suleyman Khan, his body pierced with well- 


1 A translation of this is given in my Traveller's Narrative, vol. ii, pp. 108- 
151, and 390-400. 

2 See p. 68 supra. 

3 See Polak’s Persien, vol. i, p. 353. 


112 TEHERAN 


nigh a score of wounds, in each of which was inserted a lighted 
candle, went to the place of execution singing with exultation: 
“ Yak dast jam-i-badé, va yak dast xulf-t-yar— 
Raksi chunin meydne-i-meydanam arzust!” 


“In one hand the wine-cup, in the other the tresses of the Friend— 
Such a dance do I desire in the midst of the market-place!” 


The impression produced by such exhibitions of courage and 
endurance was profound and lasting; nay, the faith which in- 
spited the martyrs was often contagious, as the following in- 
cident shows. A certain Yezdi rough, noted for his wild and 
disorderly life, went to see the execution of some Babis, perhaps 
to scoff at them. But when he saw with what calmness and stead- 
fastness they met torture and death, his feelings underwent so 
gteat a revulsion that he rushed forward crying, “Kill me too! 
I also am a Babi!”’ And thus he continued to cry till he too 
was made a pattaker in the doom he had come out only to 
gaze upon. 

During my stay in Teheran I saw the Shah several times, 
but only once sufficiently near to see his features clearly. This was 
on the occasion of his visiting the new telegraph-office on his 
way to the University, where he was to preside over the distribu- 
tion of prizes. Through the kindness of Major Wells, then 
superintendent of the Indo- -European Telegraph in Persia, H 
and myself were enabled to stand in the porch of the building 
while the Shah entered, surrounded by his ministers. We after- 
wards followed him to the University and witnessed the distribu- 
tion of prizes, which was on the most liberal scale, most of the 
students, so far as I could see, receiving either medals, or sums 
of money averaging three or four tdmdns (about £1). The Shah 
sat in a room opening out into the quadrangle, where the 
secretaries of state (wustawfis), professors, and students were 
ranged in order. Around him stood the princes of the royal 
family, including his third son, the Na’ibu’s-Saltana, and the 





TEHERAN 113 


ministers of state. The only person allowed to sit beside him was 
his little favourite, “‘Manijak,”’ who accompanied him on his last 
journey to Europe. | 

The Shah’s extraordinary fondness for this child (for he did 
not, at the time I saw him, appear to be more than eleven or 
twelve years old) was as annoying to the Persian aristocracy as 
it was astonishing to the people of Europe. It galled the spirit 
of the proud nobles of Persia to watch the daily-increasing 
influence of this little wizened, sallow-faced Kurdish lad, who 
was neither nobly born, nor of comely countenance, nor of 
pleasant manners and amiable disposition; to see honours and 
favours lavished upon him and his ignoble kinsmen; to be com- 
pelled to do him reverence and bespeak his good offices. All this 
now is a thing of the past. Within the last year or so Ghulam 
“Ali Khan, the Kurd, better known as “ Manijak”’ (which, in the 
Kurdish tongue, signifies a sparrow), and somewhile dignified 
by the title of “Axen’s-Sultdn (“the Darling of the King”’), fell 
from favour, and was hurled from the pinnacle of power down 
to his original obscurity. The cause of his fall was, I believe, that 
one day, while he was playing with a pistol, the weapon exploded 
and narrowly missed the Shah. This was too much, and “ Mani- 
jak” and his favoured kinsmen were shorn of their titles and 
honours, and packed off to their humble home in Kurdistan. 
Perhaps it was, after all, as well for them; for “the Darling of 
the King” was far from being the “Darling of the Court.”’ Sooner 
ot later his fall was bound to come, and had it been later it might 
have been yet more grievous. 

The Shah has five sons. Two of these, the Sd/érw’/-Mu/k and 
the Rukuu’l-Mulk, were, at the time of which I write, mere 
children. They were described as beautiful and attractive boys, 
but neglected by their father in favour of Manijak. The third son 
is entitled Na’sbu’s-Saltana. He resided in Teheran, and to him 
was entrusted the government of the city and the supreme 
military command. 

B 8 


114 TEHERAN 


The two elder sons were born of different mothers, and as 
the mother of the Va/-‘ahd was a princess, he, and not his elder 
brother, was chosen as the successor to the throne. That the 
Zillu’s-Sultdn inwardly chafed at being thus deprived of his birth- 
right is hardly to be doubted, though he was in the meanwhile 
compensated for this in some measure by being made governor 
of the greater part of Southern Persia, including the three 1m- 
portant cities of Shirdz, Yezd, and Isfahan, at the last of which 
he tesided in almost regal state. Here he collected together a 
considerable body of well-drilled troops, who were said to be 
mote efficient and soldierly than any of the regiments in Teheran. 
Besides these he had acquired a number of guns, and his maga- 
zines were well provided with arms and ammunition. In view 
of these preparations, and the energy and decision of character 
discernible in this prince, it was thought possible that, in the 
event of his father’s death, he might dispute the crown with his 
younger and gentler brother, the Va/-‘ahd, in which case it 
appeared not improbable that he might prove victorious, of 
at least succeed in maintaining his supremacy over Southern 
Persia. 

All such speculations, however, were cast to the winds by an 
utterly unforeseen event which occurred towards the end of 
February 1888, while I was at Isfahan. In the beginning of that 
month both the Zi//y’s-Sultdn and the Val-‘ahd had come to 
Teheran, the former from Isfahan, the latter from Tabriz, to pay 
a visit to their father. A decoration was to be presented to the 
former by the English Government for the protection and favour 
which he had extended to English trade and enterprise, towards 
which he had ever shown himself well disposed. Suddenly, with- 
out any warfning, came the news that he had been deprived of 
all his governments, with the exception of the city of Isfahan; 
that he and some of his ministers who had accompanied him to 
the capital were kept to all intents and purposes prisoners within 
its walls; that his deputy-governors at Yezd, Shiraz, and other 


TEHERAN I1§ 


towns were recalled; and that his army was disbanded, his 
attillery removed to Teheran, and his power effectually shattered. 
On first hearing from the Shah that of all the fair regions over 
which he had held sway, Isfahan only was left to him, he is 
reported to have said in the bitterness of his heart, ““You had 
better take that from me too”; to which the Shah replied, “I will 
do so, and will give it to your son” (Prince Jalalu’d-Dawla, then 
governor for his father at Shiraz). This threat was, however, 
not carried out, and the Z7//u’s-Sultdn was left in possession of 
the former capital as a remnant of his once wide dominions. 
Passing from the Shah and his sons, we must now turn our 
attention to one or two other members of the royal family. Fore- 
most amongst these is (or rather was, for he died in 1888, while 
I was still in Persia) the Shah’s aged uncle, Ferhad Mirza, Ma‘ta- 
madu'd-Dawla, with whom, through the kindness of Dr Torrence 
of the American Missionary Establishment, and by means of his 
interest with Prince Ihtish4mu’d-Dawla (the son of Ferhad 
Mirza, and, since the downfall of the Z7//u’s-Sultdn, governor of 
Shiraz and the province of Fars), I obtained the honour of an 
interview. We found him seated, amidst a pile of cushions, in 
his andarun, ot inner apartments, surrounded by well-stocked 
shelves of books. He received us with that inimitable courtesy 
whereby Persians of the highest rank know so well how to set 
the visitor completely at his ease, and at the same time to impress 
him with the deepest respect for their nobility. I was greatly 
struck by his venerable appearance and dignified mien, as well 
as by the indomitable energy and keen intelligence expressed by 
the flashing eye and mobile features, which neither old age nor 
bodily infirmity was able to rob of their animation. He talked 
much of a book called Nzsab, written by himself to facilitate the 
acquisition of the English language (with which he had some 
acquaintance) by his countrymen. Of this work he subsequently 
presented me with a copy, which I value highly as a souvenir 


of its illustrious author. It is arranged on the same plan as the 
8-2 


116 TEHERAN 


Arabic Nisdbst so popular in Persia—that is to say, it consists 
of a sort of rhymed vocabulary, in which the English words 
(represented in the text in Persian characters, and repeated in 
English characters at the head of the page) are explained success- 
ively by the corresponding Persian word. The following lines, 
taken from the commencement of the work, and here represented 
in English characters, will serve as a specimen of the whole:— 
“Dar mah-i-Dey jam-i-mey dih, ey nigar-i-mabru, 
Kaz shamim-i-an dimagh-i-ak/ gardad mushk-bu. 
‘Hid’ sar-ast, 4 ‘ndz’ bini, ‘lip’ lab-ast, 4 ‘ay’ chu chashm; 
“Tuth’ dinddn, ‘fat’ pd, 4 ‘hand’ dast, 4 ‘feys’ ra. 
Gish & gardan ‘i? # ‘nik’; ‘chik’ chibré, ‘tang’ dmad zabdn; 
Ndf ‘ni?vil’ dan, u pistdn-rd ‘buzam’; khwdn ‘hiar’ mu.” 
“Tn the month of Dey? give the cup of wine, O moon-faced beauty, 
So that by its fragrance the palate of the intellect may become perfumed as 
with musk. 
Head is sar, and nose bin/, lip is Jab, and eye like chashm; 
Tooth dindan, foot pd, and hand dast, and face ra. 
Gush and gardan eat and neck; cheek chihré, tongue becomes yabdn; 
Recognise df as navel, and pistdn as bosom; call hair mi.” 

I doubt greatly whether such a method of learning a language 
would commend itself to a European student, but with the 
Persians, endowed as they are with a great facility for learning 
by heart, it is a very favourite one. 

Prince Ferhad Mirz4 professed a great kindliness for the 
English nation as well as for their language; nor, if the following 
natrative be true, is this to be wondered at, since his life was once 
saved by Sit Taylor Thomson when endangered by the anger of 
his nephew, the Shah. Fleeing from the messengers of the king’s 
wrath, he took refuge in the English Embassy, and threw himself 
on the protection of his friend the Ambassador, who promised 
to give him shelter so long as it should be necessary. Soon the 

1 The best known of these is the Nisdbu’s-Sibydn of Abt Nasr Farahi, who 
flourished in the beginning of the seventh century of the Aira (thirteenth of 
our era). 


2 The tenth month of the old Persian solar year, corresponding to De- 
cember—January. 


TEHERAN 117 


toyal farrdshes atrived, and demanded his surrender, which de- 
mand was unhesitatingly refused. They then threatened to break 
in by force and seize their prisoner, whereupon Sir Taylor 
Thomson drew a line across the path and declared that he would 
shoot the first man who attempted to cross it. Thereupon they 
thought it best to retire, and Ferhad Mirza remained for a while 
the guest of the British Embassy, during which time Sir Taylor 
Thomson never suffered him to partake of a dish without first tast-. 
ing it himself, for it was feared that, violence having failed, poison 
might, perhaps, beemployed. Ultimately the Shah’s anger subsided, 
and his uncle was able again to emerge from his place of refuge. 

Before the close of our audience, Ferhad Mitz4 asked me how 
long I intended to stop in Teheran, and whither I proposed to 
go on leaving it. I replied that my intention was to proceed to 
Shiraz as soon as the spring set in, since that it was the Darv’/+ 
“I/m (‘ Abode of Knowledge’’), and I thought that I might better 
pursue my studies there. “That,” replied Ferhad Mirza, “‘is 
quite a mistake: 500 years ago Shiraz was the Daru’/-‘I/m, but 
now that has passed, and it can only be called the Darw’-Fisk” 
(‘Abode of Vice’’). 

Ferhad Mirza had little reason to like Shiraz, nor had Shiraz 
much better reason to like Ferhad Mirza. He was twice governor 
of that town and the province of Fars, of which it is the capital, 
and was so unpopular during his administration that when he 
was tecalled the populace did not seek to hide their delight, and 
even pursued him with jeers and derisive remarks. Ferhad Mirza 
swote that the Shirazis should pay for their temporary triumph 
right dearly, and he kept his word. After a lapse of time he was 
again appointed governor of the city that had insulted him, and 
his rule, never of the gentlest, became sterner than ever. During 
his four years of office (ending about 1880) he is said to have 
caused no less than 700 hands to be cut off for various offences. 
In one case a man came and complained that he had lost an ass, 
which was subsequently found amongst the animals belonging 


118 TEHERAN 


to a lad in the neighbourhood. The latter was seized and brought 
before Ferhad Mirza, who, as soon as the ass had been identified 
by the plaintiff, ordered the hand of the defendant to be cut off 
without further delay, giving no ear to the protestations of the 
poor boy that the animal had of its own accord entered his herd, 
and that he had not, till the accusation of theft was preferred 
against him, been able to discover its owner. Besides these 
minor punishments, many robbers and others suffered death; not 
a few wete walled up alive in pillars of mortar, there to perish 
miserably. The remains of these living tombs may still be seen 
just outside the Derwazé-i-Kassab-khané (‘‘Slaughter-house gate’’) 
at Shiraz, while another series lines the toad as it enters the little 
town of Abddé, situated near the northern limit of the province 
of Fars. On another occasion a certain Sheykh Madhkur, who had 
revolted in the garmsir, ot hot region bordering on the Persian 
Gulf, and had struck coins in his own name, was captured and 
brought to Shiraz, together with two of his followers, one of 
whom was his chief executioner. Ferhad Mirza first compelled 
the Sheykh to eat one of his own coins, and then caused him and 
his followers to be strangled and suspended from a lofty gibbet 
as a watning to the disaffected. Notwithstanding his severity, 
Ferhad Mirza enjoyed a great reputation for piety, and had ac- 
complished the pilgrimage to Mecca. His son, as I have said, was, 
early in 1888, appointed Governor of Shiraz, where the reputation 
of his father caused his advent to be looked forward to with 
some apprehension. 

The only other member of the Persian royal family whom I 
met was one of the brothers of the Shah, entitled ‘Izzu’d-Dawla, 
who, if less important a personage than Ferhad Mirza, was by 
no means less courteous. He asked many questions about recent 
inventions in Europe, manifesting an especial interest, so far as 
I remember, in patent medicines and dynamite. 

Having now completed all that I have to say about the reigning 
dynasty, I will speak shortly of Persian dinner-parties at Teheran. 


TEHERAN 119 


As these ate seen in a more truly national form in the provinces, 
where chairs, tables, knives, and forks have not yet obtruded 
themselves to such an extent as in the semi-Europeanised capital, 
I shall leave much that I have to say on this subject for subsequent 
pages. Most of the Persians with whom I was intimate at 
Teheran had adopted European habits to a considerable extent; 
and during my residence there I was only on two occasions 
present at a really national entertainment. 

The order of procedure is always much the same. The guests 
attive about sundown, and are ushered into what corresponds 
to the drawing-room, where they are received by their host and 
his male relations (for women are, of course, excluded). Ka/ydus 
(water-pipes) and wine, or undiluted spirits (the latter being pre- 
ferred), are offeted them, and they continue to smoke and drink 
intermittently during the whole of the evening. Dishes of “@z/”’ 
(pistachio nuts and the like) are handed round or placed near the 
guests; and from time to time a spit of kebdbs (pieces of broiled 
meat) enveloped in a folded sheet of the flat bread called ndn-z- 
Sangak}, is brought in. These things bring out the flavour of the 
wine, and serve to stimulate, and at the same time appease, the 
appetite of the guests, for the actual supper is not served till the 
time for breaking up the assembly has almost arrived, which is 
rately much before midnight. 

As a tule, music is provided for the entertainment of the guests. 
The musicians are usually three in number: one plays a stringed 
instrument (the s7-/dr); one a drum (dunbak), consisting of an 
earthenware framework, shaped something like a huge egg-cup, 
and covered with parchment at one end only; the third sings 
to the accompaniment of his fellow-performers. Sometimes 

1 Sangak (“pebble”) is the diminutive of sang (“‘a stone”). This bread is 
called “pebble-bread” because the bottom of the oven in which it is baked is 
formed by a sloping bank of pebbles, on which the flat cakes of dough are 
thrown. It is very pleasant to the taste, and the only objection to it is that 


sometimes a stray pebble gets incorporated in its substance, to the manifest 
peril of the teeth of the consumer. 


120 TEHERAN 


dancing-boys ate also present, who excite the admiration and 
applause of the spectators by their elaborate posturing, which is 
usually more remarkable for acrobatic skill than for grace, at 
any tate according to our ideas. These, however, are more often 
seen in Shiraz than at Teher4n. Occasionally the singer is a boy; 
and, if his voice be sweet and his appearance comely, he will be 
eteeted with rapturous applause. At one entertainment to which 
I had been invited, the guests were so moved by the performance 
of the boy-singer that they all joined hands and danced round 
him in a citcle, chanting in a kind of monotonous chorus, 
“ Baraka lah, Ktichuli! Baraka’ lldh, Kuchuli!” (“God bless thee, 
little one! God bless thee, little one!’’), till sheer exhaustion 
compelled them to stop. 

When the host thinks that the entertainment has lasted long 
enough, he gives the signal for supper, which is served either 
in the same ot in another room. A cloth is laid on the floor, 
round which are arranged the long flat cakes of “‘pebble-bread”’ 
which do double duty as food and plates. The meats, consisting 
for the most part of pildws and childws* of different sorts, are 
placed in the centre, together with bowls of sherbet, each of 
which is supplied with a delicately-carved wooden spoon, with 
deep boat-shaped bowl, whereof the sides slope down to form 
a sort of keel at the bottom. The guests squat down on their 
knees and heels round the cloth, the host placing him whom he 
desires most to honour on his right side at the upper end of the 
room (Ze. opposite the door). At the lower end the musicians 
and minstrels take their places, and all, without further delay, 
commence an attack on the viands. The consumption of food 
progresses rapidly, with but little conversation, for it is not usual 

1 The basis of both pil/dws and childws is boiled rice flavoured with different 
meats; the difference between them is, that in the former the mixture is 
effected by the cook, in the latter by the guest, who takes with the plain rice 
whatever delicacy most tempts his palate. There are many varieties of pi/dw, 


two of the nicest of which, in my opinion, are orange-pi/dw and what is called 
babuneé-pildw. 


TEHERAN 121 


in Persia to linger over meals, or to prolong them by talk, which 
is better conducted while the mouth is not otherwise employed. 
If the host wishes to pay special honour to a guest, he picks out 
and places in his mouth some particularly delicate morsel. In 
about a quarter of an hour from the commencement of the ban- 
quet most of the guests have finished and washed their hands by 
pouring water over them from a metal ewer into a plate of the 
same material, brought round by the servants for that purpose. 
They then rinse out their mouths, roll down their sleeves again, 
partake of a final pipe, and, unless they mean to stay for the night, 
depart homewards, either on foot ot on horseback, preceded by 
a servant bearing a lantern. 

Such is the usual course of a Persian dinner-party; and the 
mid-day meal (wahdr), to which guests are sometimes invited, 
differs from it only in this, that it is shorter and less boisterous. 
Although I have described the general features of such an entet- 
tainment in some detail, I fear that I have failed to convey any 
idea of the charm which it really possesses. This charm results 
partly from the lack of constraint and the freedom of the guests; 
partly from the cordial welcome which a Persian host so well 
knows how to give; partly from the exhilarating influence of the 
wine and music (which, though so different from that to which 
we ate accustomed, produces, in such as are susceptible to its 
influence, an indescribable sense of subdued ecstasy); but more 
than all from the vigour, variety, and brilliancy of the conversa- 
tion. There is no doubt that satiety produces somnolence and 
apathy, as is so often seen at English dinner-parties. Hence the 
Persians wisely defer the meal till the very end of the evening, 
when sleep is to be sought. During the earlier stages of the 
entertainment their minds are stimulated by wine, music, and 
mirth, without being dulled by the heaviness resulting from 
repletion. This, no doubt, is one reason why the conversation _ 
is, as a tule, so brilliant; but beyond this the quick, versatile, 
subtle mind of the Persian, stored, as it usually is, with anecdotes, 


122 TEHERAN 


historical, literary, and incidental, and freed for the time being 
from the testraint which custom ordinarily imposes on it, flashes 
forth on these occasions in cotuscations of wit and humour, 
interspersed with pungent criticisms and philosophical reflections 
which display a wonderful insight. Hence it is that one rarely 
fails to enjoy thoroughly an evening spent at a Persian banquet, 
and that the five or six hours during which it lasts hardly ever 
hang heavily on one’s hands. 

The Persians have only two full meals in the day—xzahar, 
which one may call indifferently either breakfast or lunch, since 
on the one hand it is the first meal of the day, and on the other it 
is not taken till a little before noon; and shdm, ot supper, which, 
as I have already stated, is eaten the last thing before retiring for 
the night. Besides these two meals, tea is taken on rising in the 
morning, and again in the afternoon. 

The usual way in which a Persian of the upper classes spends 
his day is, then, somewhat as follows: He rises early, often 
before sunrise (which, indeed, he must do, if devotionally in- 
clined, for the morning prayer), and, after drinking a glass or 
two of tea (without milk, of course) and smoking a kalydn, sets 
about the business of the day, whatever it may be. About noon, 
or a little earlier, he has his breakfast (nahdr), which differs little 
from supper as regards its material. After this, especially if the 
season be summer, he usually lies down and sleeps till about 
3 p.m. From this time till sunset is the period for paying calls, 
so he either goes out to visit a friend, or else stays at home to 
receive visitors. In either case, tea and ka/ydns constitute a pro- 
minent feature in the afternoon’s employment. Casual visitors 
do not, as a rule, remain long after sunset, and on their departure, 
unless an invitation to supper has been given or received, the 
evening is quietly passed at home till the time for supper and bed 
attives. In the case of government employés, as well as shop- 
keepers, tradesmen, and others, whose hours of work are longer, 
a considerable portion of the afternoon may have to be spent in 


TEHERAN 123 


business, but in any case this rarely lasts after 4 or 5 p.m. Calls 
may also be paid in the early morning, before the day’s work 
commences. The true Persian life is, however, as I have before 
rematked, much better seen in the provinces than in the capital, 
where European influences have already wrought a great change 
in national customs. Further remarks on it will therefore find 
a fitter place in a subsequent chapter. 

I must now return to my life in the Nawwab’s house, and 
the society which I there met. Amongst the visitors were a 
certain number of Afghans who had formed the suite of Ayyub 
Khan before his attempted escape, and who were now to be 
transferred to Rawal Pindi in India, by way of Baghdad. The 
arrangements for their journey were entrusted mainly to my host, 
and, for a time, few days passed without his receiving visits 
from some of them. On these occasions I used often to remain 
in the room during the conversation, half of which, although 
it was conducted in Persian, was nearly unintelligible to me; 
for the Afghans speak in a manner and with an accent quite 
peculiar to themselves. These Afghans, who wote coloured tur- 
bans wound round a conical cap, after the Indian fashion, were 
troublesome and cantankerous fellows, seeming never to be 
satisfied, and always wanting something more—a larger allow- 
ance of money, more horses, or more sumptuous litters for the 
journey. As a tule, too, their expressions betokened cruelty 
and deceit, though some of them were fine-looking men, especi- 
ally an old mullé called Kazi ‘Abdu’s-Salam, who had held an 
important position under the late Amir, Shir ‘Ali, 

For the most part, however, the visitors were Persians, and 
of these a large proportion were natives of Shiraz, to whose 
eulogies of their beloved city (for all Shirdzis are intensely 
patriotic) I used to listen with unwearying delight. They would 
praise the beautiful gardens, the far-famed stream of Ruknabad, 
the soft, sweet speech of the south, and the joyousness of the 
people; but when I exclaimed that Shiraz must be a very paradise, 


124 TEHERAN 


they would shake their heads sadly and say, “the place, indeed, 
has no fault—val// sdbibi na-ddrad—but it has no master,” think- 
ing, pethaps, of the happy time when the virtuous and noble 
Karim Khan the Zend held his court there, and rejoiced in his 
palace, when he heard the sounds of merriment from the town, 
that his people should be free from care and sadness. 

One constant visitor was the Nawwa4b’s brother-in-law, Aka 
Muhammad Hasan Khan of the Kashka’i tribe which dwells in 
the neighbourhood of Shiraz. When he had ceased for a while 
the disquisitions on philosophy which were his favourite theme, 
and had temporarily exhausted the praises of “the Master,” as 
he called his teacher in the science, Mirzd Abu’l-Hasan-i-Jilvé, 
he, too, used to revert to the inexhaustible subject of the beauties 
of his native land. “You must on no account postpone your 
visit to Shiraz later than the Nawrtz” (the Persian New Yeat’s 
Day, which corresponds with the vernal equinox), he would say, 
“for then, indeed, there is no place on the face of the earth so 
beautiful. You know what the Sheykh (ze. Sa‘di) says— 

*Khusha tafarruj-i-Nawriz, khassé dar Shirdz, 
Ki bar kanad dil-i-mard-i-musafir az watanash, 

‘Pleasant is the New Year’s outing, especially in Shiraz, 

Which turns aside the heart of the traveller from his native land.”” __ 

In the evening, when I was alone with the Nawwab, or his 
brother ‘Isa Khan, a colonel in the Persian army, or my old 
friends, his nephews, the talk would turn on religion, philosophy, 
ot literature. Sometimes they would entertain me with anecdotes 
of celebrated men and accounts of curious superstitions and 
customs; sometimes the Nawwab would play on the si-/ar, on 
which he was a proficient; while sometimes they would explain 
to me the intricacies of the Muhammadan prayers and ablutions, 
and the points wherein the Shi‘ites differ from the Sunnis, both 
in practice and belief. They did not fail on these occasions to 
point out the meaning which underlies many of the ordinances 
of Islam. “The fast of Ramazan,” they said, “‘appears to you a 


TEHERAN 125 


most grievous burden for a prophet and legislator to lay upon his 
followers, but in truth in this is its very value, for, as it is en- 
joined on all alike, the rich are made to realise what hunger and 
thirst, which they would otherwise never experience, really are. 
Thus they are enabled to understand the condition of those who 
ate always exposed to these trials, and brought to sympathise 
with them and to strive to ameliorate their lot more than they 
would otherwise do. So, too, with our prayers, and the ablutions 
by which they must be preceded. It is true that there is no 
special virtue in praying and washing oneself five times a day; 
but it is evident that one who is enjoined to remember his 
Creator thus often, and to keep his body pure and clean, will 
always have these objects in view, and will never through negli- 
gence fall into forgetfulness of God and disregard of personal 
cleanliness. Moreover, we ate forbidden to pray in any place 
which has been forcibly taken from its owner, or in which he 
does not give us permission to perform our devotions. This 
continually serves to remind us to be just and courteous in all 
our dealings, that our prayers may be acceptable to God.” 

Sometimes the conversation was of a lighter character, and 
turned on the sayings of witty and learned men, their ready 
replies, and pungent sarcasms. Of these anecdotes I will give 
a few specimens, 

Sheykh Sa‘di was unrivalled in ready wit and quickness of 
repartee, yet even he once met with his match. It happened in 
this wise. The young prince of Shiraz, who was remarkable for 
his beauty, went one day, accompanied by his retinue, to visit 
a mosque which was being built by his orders, and which is still 
standing. As he passed by a workman who was digging, a piece 
of mud flew up from the spade and touched his cheek. Sa‘di, 
who was walking near him, saw this, and immediately exclaimed, 
making use of a quotation from the Kur’4n, “Yd /aytani kuntu 
turdba!” (““O would that I were earth!”’). The prince, hearing 


1 Kur’4n, ch. Ixxviii, v. 41. 


126 TEHERAN 


Sa‘di speak, but failing to catch his remark, asked, “What does 
the Sheykh say?” Another learned man who was present in- 
stantly interposed: “May I be thy sacrifice! it was naught but 
a quotation from the Holy Book—‘fa-kdla’kdfiru, “ Yd laytant 
kuntu turdba!”’” (“and the infidel said, ‘O would that I were 
eatth!’”’) Sa‘di had made use of the quotation, forgetting for the 
moment in whose mouth the words were placed. His rival had 
not forgotten, and, while appearing merely to justify Sa‘di, suc- 
ceeded in applying to him the opprobrious term of kdfir (infidel). 

‘Obeyd-i-Zak4ni was another celebrated poet, chiefly noted 
for the scathing satires which flowed from his pen. Even when 
he was on his death-bed his grim humour did not desert him. 
Summoning successively to his side his two sons and his 
daughter, he informed them, with every precaution to ensute 
secrecy, that he had left behind for them a treasure, which they 
must seek for, on a particular hour of a certain day after his 
death and burial, in a place which he indicated. ‘Be sure,” 
he added in conclusion, “‘that you go thither at that hour and 
at no other, and above all keep what I have said secret from 
my other children.” Shortly after this the poet breathed his 
last, and when his body had been consigned to the grave, and 
the day appointed for the search had come, each of his three 
children repaired secretly to the spot indicated. Great was the 
surprise of each to find that the others were also present, and 
evidently bent on the same quest. Explanations of a not very 
satisfactory character ensued, and they then proceeded to dig 
for the treasure. Sure enough they soon came on a large parcel, 
which they eagerly extracted from its place of concealment, and 
began to unfold. On removing the outer covering they found 
a layer of straw, evidently designed to protect the valuable and 
perhaps fragile contents. Inside this was another smaller box, 
on opening which a quantity of cotton-wool appeared. An eager 
examination of this brought to light nothing but a small slip 
of paper on which something was written. Disappointed in their 


TEHERAN 127 


seatch, but still hoping that this document might prove of value, 
either by guiding them to the real treasure, or in some other way, 
they hastily bore it to the light, and read these words— 
“ Khuddy danad, 4 man danam, u tu ham dani 
Ki yak fulus na-darad ‘Obeyd-i-Zakdni!” 
“God knows, and I know, and thou too knowest, 
That ‘Obeyd-i-Zakani does not possess a single copper!”’ 

Whether the children were able to appreciate this final display 
of humour on the part of their father is not narrated by the 
historian. 

Satire, though, for obvious reasons, cultivated to a much 
smaller extent than panegyric, did not by any means cease with 
the death of ‘Obeyd-i-Zakani, which occurred about the year 
A.D. 1370. The following, composed on the incapable and 
crotchety Haji Mirza Ak4si, prime minister of Muhammad 
Shah, may serve as an example:— 


 Na-g’xasht dar mulk-i-Shah Hajt dirami; 
Kard kharj-i-kandt u tip har bish 4 kami; 
Na mazra‘-i-dust-ra az an kandt nami, 
Na khdyé-i-dushman-ra az an tip ghamt.” 

“The Haji did not leave a single dirham in the domains of the king; 
Everything, small or great, he expended on kandts and guns— 
Kandts which conveyed no water to the fields of his friends, 

And guns which inflicted no injury on his enemies.” * 


The wasteful and useless extravagance of Haji Mirza Akdsi 
here held up to ridicule was unfortunately far from being his 
greatest of most pernicious error. It was he who ceded to the 


1 A Xandat is an underground channel for bringing water from those places 
where its presence has been detected by the water-finder (wukanni-bashi) to 
towns or villages where it is needed. The horizontal shaft is made by first 
sinking vertical ones and connecting these with one another by tunnelling. 
The cost of these kandts (which abound in most parts of Persia) is very great. 
They are generally made by a rich man at his own risk and expense, according 
to the advice of the mukanni-bashi. The water is then sold to those who use it. 
The object of this satire was celebrated for his passion for trying to invent 
new guns, and making kandts which proved worthless. (See Gobineau, 
Religions et Philosophies dans I’ Asie Centrale, p. 163.) The last line, containing, 
as it does, a crude but forcible Persian idiom, I merely paraphrase. 


128 TEHERAN 


Russians the sole right of navigating the Caspian Sea, remarking, 
with a chuckle at his own wit, “Md murghdbi nistim ki ab-i-shur 
lizim dashté bdshim,” “We are not waterfowl that we should stand 
in need of salt water,” to which he presently added the following 
sage teflection:—‘‘Bardyi mushti db-i-shir na-mi-shavad kdm-t- 
shirin-i-dist-rd talkh namud’ (“It wouldn’t do to embitter the 
sweet palate of a friend for the sake of a handful of salt water’’). 
Readiness is a sine qué non in a Persian poet. He must be able 

to improvise at a moment’s notice. One day Fath-‘Ali Shah was 
riding through the bazaars surrounded by his courtiers when he 
happened to notice amongst the apprentices in a coppersmith’s 
shop a very beautiful boy, whose fair face was begrimed with coal 
dust. 

“ Bi-gird-i-“driz-i-mis-gar nishaste gard-i-zughdl”’ 
(“Around the cheeks of the coppersmith has settled the dust of the coal”), 
said the king, improvising a hemistich; “now, Sir Laureate” 
(turning to his court-poet), “‘cap me that if you can!” 

“Sadd-yi mis bi-falak mt-ravad ki mab giriftast” 
(“The clang of the copper goes up to heaven because the moon is eclipsed”’), 
rejoined the Laureate, without a moment’s hesitation. To ap- 
preciate the appositeness of this verse the reader must know that 
a beautiful face is constantly compared by the Persians to the 
moon, and that when there is an eclipse of the moon it is cus- 
tomaty in Persia to beat copper vessels to frighten away the 
dragon which is vulgarly supposed to have “eaten” it. This 
rhetorical figure (called “‘Ausn-z-ta‘lil”’), whereby an observed 
effect is explained by a fanciful cause, is a great favourite with the 
Persian poets. Here is another instance of a more exaggerated 
type, in a verse addressed by the poet Rasikh to his sweetheart— 

“ Flusn-i-mab-ra ba tu sanjidam bi-mizdn-i-kiyas: 
Palle-i-mah bar falak shud, 4 ti mandi bar zamin!” 


“I weighed thy beauty against that of the moon in the balance of my 
judgment: 

The scale containing the moon flew up to heaven, and thou wert left on 
the earth!” 


TEHERAN 129 


Could a neater compliment, or one mote exaggerated, be 
imagined? 

It is the fashion with some scholars to talk as if literary and 
poetical talent were a thing of the past in Persia. No mistake 
could possibly be greater. Everyone is aware of that form of 
hallucination whereby the Past is glorified at the expense of the 
Present; that illusion which is typified both in the case of in- 
dividuals and nations in the phrase, “the happy days of child- 
hood.” Men not only forget the defects and disagreeables of the 
past, and remember only its glories, but they are very apt to 
weigh several centuries of the Past against a few decades of the 
Present. “‘Where,” the enthusiastic admirer of older Persian 
literature exclaims, “‘are the Rudagis, the Firdawsis, the Nizamis, 
the ‘Omar Khayyams, the Anvaris, the Sa‘dis, the Hafizes, the 
Jamis, of the glorious Past? Where are such mighty singers to 
be found now?” Leaving aside the fact that these immortal 
bards ranged over a period of five centuries, and that when, at 
certain periods, the munificent patronage of some prince collected 
together a number of contemporary poets (as at the so-called 
“Round Table” of Sultan Mahmud of Ghazni), posterity (per- 
haps wisely) often neglected to preserve the works of more than 
one otf two of them, it may confidently be asserted that the 
nineteenth century has produced a group of most distinguished 
poets, whose works will undoubtedly, when duly transfigured 
by the touch of antiquity, go to make up “portions and parcels” 
of the “glorious Past.”’ Of modern Persian poets the greatest 
is pethaps Ka’4ni, who died about A.D. 1854. In panegyric and 
satire alike he is unrivalled; and he has a wealth of metaphor, 
a flow of language, and a sweetness of utterance scarcely to be 
found in any other poet. Although he lacks the mystic sublimity 
of Jami, the divine despair of ‘Omar Khayyam, and the majestic 
erandeur of Firdawsi, he manifests at times a humour rarely 
met with in the older poets. One poem of his, describing a 
dialogue between an old man anda child, both of whom stammer, 

B 9 


130 TEHERAN 


is very humorous. The child, on being first addressed by the 
old man, thinks that his manner of speech is being imitated and 
ridiculed, and is very angry; but, on being assured and finally 
convinced that his interlocutor is really afflicted in the same way, 
he is appeased, and concludes with the words— 
“ Ma-ma-man ham gu-gu-gung-am ma-ma-mithl-1-tu-tu-ti, 
Tu-tu-ta ham gu-gu-gungi ma-ma-mithl-i-ma-ma-man.” 
“J also am a stammerer like unto thee; 
Thou also art a stammerer like unto me.” 

The best poets at present living are Mirza-yi-Farhang!? and 
Mirz4-yi-Yezdani, both of whom I met at Shiraz. They are the 
only two surviving brothers of Mirza Davari, also a poet of great 
merit; their father, whose nom de guerre was Wisal, was widely 
famed for his poetic talent; and their sons already manifest un- 
mistakable signs of genius. 

The conversation of my kind friends, who desired that I 
might become acquainted with everything calculated to illustrate 
Persian life, did not, however, confine itself only to the master- 
pieces of national poetry. Nursery rhymes and schoolboy dog- 
gerel also came in for a share of attention. As a specimen of 
these I may quote the following:— 


“* Tabbat yada Abi La’—’ 
Akhind bi-kesh tavila; 
Kadhash bi-dih bi-miré’, 
Javash bi-dih na-miré.” 


Which may be paraphrased thus:— 


“Aba Lahab’s pride shall fall’ —z 
Put the master in the stall; 
He will die, if chaff you give, 
Give him oats and he will live.” 


1 Mirza-yi-Farhang, I regret to say, is no longer alive. The news of his death 
reached me a few months ago. [This was written between 1890 and 1893.] 

2 The first line is a mutilated fragment of the first verse of the 111th sara 
of the Kur’4n—“ Tabbat yadad Abi Lahab" wa tabb,” “The hands of Abt 
Lahab shall perish and he shall perish.”” This chapter, being one of the shorter 
ones at the end of the Kur’dn, is amongst the earliest learnt by Persian 
children. 


TEHERAN 131 


I have already alluded to practical jokes, and described one 
perpetrated by a wit of the fourteenth century. Let me add 
another of the present day, which, if rougher than that of ‘Obeyd- 
i-Zakani, was at least intended to convey a salutary lesson to the 
person on whom it was practised. Amongst the dependents of 
the governor of a certain town was a man who was possessed 
by the desire to discover some means of rendering himself in- 
visible. At length he had the good fortune (as he thought) to 
meet with a dervish who agreed, for a certain sum of money, 
to supply him with some pills which would produce the desired 
effect. Filled with delight at the success which appeared at length 
to have crowned his efforts, the would-be dabbler in the occult 
sciences did not fail to boast openly before his comrades, and 
even before the governor, that on a certain day he would visit 
them unseen and prove the efficacy of his new acquisition. On 
the appointed day, having taken one or two of the magical pills, 
he accordingly came to the governot’s palace, filled with de- 
lightful anticipations of triumph on his own part and envious 
astonishment on the part of his friends. Now the governor was 
determined, if possible, to cure him of his taste for the black art, 
and had therefore given orders to the sentries, servants, and other 
attendants, as well as to his own associates, that when the would- 
be magician arrived they were all to behave as though they were 
unable to see him. Accordingly, when he reached the gate of 
the palace, he was delighted to observe that the sentries omitted 
to give him the customaty salute. Proceeding farther, he became 
more and more certain that the dervish’s pills had produced 
the promised effect. No one looked at him; no one saluted him; 
no one showed any consciousness of his presence. At length 
he entered the room where the governor was sitting with his 
associates. Finding that these too appeared insensible to his 
presence, he determined to give them a proof that he had really 
been amongst them in invisible form—a fact which they might 
otherwise refuse to credit. A kalydn, or watet-pipe, was standing 


9-2 


132 TEHERAN 


in the middle of the room, the charcoal in it still glowing. The 
pseudo-magician applied his lips to the mouth-piece and began 
to smoke. Those present at once broke out into expressions of 
astonishment. ‘“‘ Wonderful!” they exclaimed, “‘look at that 
kalydn! Though no one is near it, it is just as 1f some one were 
smoking it: nay, one can even hear the gurgle of the water in the 
~ bowl.” Enchanted with the sensation he had caused, the ‘“‘in- 
visible’? one became bolder. Some lighted candles were in the 
room; one of these he blew out. Again exclamations of surprise 
arose from the company. “Marvellous!” they cried, “there is 
no wind, yet suddenly that candle has been blown out; what can 
possibly be the meaning of this?”’ The candle was again lighted, 
and again promptly blown out. In the midst of fresh expressions 
of surprise, the governor suddenly exclaimed, “I have it! I know 
what has happened! So-and-so has no doubt eaten one of his 
magical pills, and is even now present amongst us, though we 
cannot see him; well, we will see if he is intangible as well as 
invisible. Ho, there! bacha-hd!* Bring the sticks, quick! Lay 
about you in all directions; perhaps you will be able to teach our 
invisible friend better manners.” The farrdshes hastened to rain 
down a shower of blows on the unfortunate intruder, who cried 
out loudly for mercy. “But where are your” demanded the 
governor. “‘Cease to be invisible, and show yourself, that we 
may see you.” “‘O master,” cried the poor crestfallen magician, 
“if I be really invisible, how happens it that all the blows of the 
farrdshes teach me with such effect? I begin to think that I have 
been deceived by that rascally dervish, and that I am not invisible 
at all.” On this, amidst the mirth of all present, the sufferer was 
allowed to depart, with a recommendation that in future he should 
avoid the occult sciences; an injunction which one may reasonably 
hope he did not soon forget. 


1 Bacha-hd means “boys,” “children”; but the term is also commonly 
employed in summoning servants, in this case the farrdshes, whose duty it is 
to administer corporal punishment. 





CHAPTER. VI 


Veo DLGCS VeVi e acl yo LGN De VAG LC 


“ Guftagh-yi kufr u din dkhir bi-yak ja mi-kashad: 
Khwab yak khwab-ast, amma mukhtalif ta‘bir-hd.” 


“Free-thought and faith-—the upshot’s one; they wrangle o’er a name: 
Interpretations differ, but the dream is still the same.” 
(Sa’2b.) 
“ Hich kas ‘ukda’i az kar-i-jihin bd na-kard : 
Har ki dmad girthi chand barin tar fuzud.” 
“No one yet hath unravelled a knot from the skein of the universe, 
And each who came and essayed the same but made the tangle worse.” 


HE most striking feature of the Persians as a nation is their 
passion for metaphysical speculation. This passion, so far 
from being confined to the learned classes, permeates all ranks, 
and manifests itself in the shopkeeper and the muleteer, as well 
as in the scholar and the man of letters. Not to give some 
account of this aspect of Persian life would, then, be a grave 
omission, calculated to prevent the reader from obtaining a just 
impression of the national character. 

That dogmatic theology is unfavourable to speculation is 
obvious, and as few theological systems are more dogmatic and 
uncompromising than that of Islam, it might be expected that 
Persia, being one of the strongholds of the Muhammadan faith, 
would afford at best a sterile soil for the growth of other systems. 
Such, however, is far from being the case. Persia is, and always 
has been, a very hot-bed of systems, from the time of Manes 
and Mazdak in the old Sdsdnian days, down to the present age, 
which has brought into being the Babis and the Sheykhis. 

When, in the seventh century, the warlike followers of the 


134 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


Arabian prophet swept across Ir4n, overwhelming, in their 
tumultuous onslaught, an ancient dynasty and a venerable 
religion, a change, apparently almost unparalleled in history, 
was in the course of a few years brought over the land. Where 
for centuries the ancient hymns of the Avesta had been chanted, 
and the sacred fire had burned, the cry of the mw’exzin summon- 
ing the faithful to prayer rang out from minarets reared on the 
ruins of the temples of Ahura Mazda. The priests of Zoroaster 
fell by the sword; the ancient books perished in the flames; 
and soon none were left to represent a once mighty faith but 
a handful of exiles flying towards the shores of India, and a 
despised and persecuted remnant in solitary Yezd and remote 
Kirman. Truly it seemed that a whole nation had been trans- 
formed, and that henceforth the Aryan Persian must not only 
bear the yoke of the Semitic “lizard-eater”’ whom he had for- 
merly so despised, but must further adopt his creed, and almost, 
indeed, his language. 

Yet, after all, the change was but skin-deep, and soon a host 
of heterodox sects born on Persian soil—Shi‘ites, Sufis, Isma‘ilis, 
philosophers—arose to vindicate the claim of Aryan thought to 
be free, and to transform the religion forced on the nation by 
Arab steel into something which, though still wearing a sem- 
blance of Islam, had a significance widely different from that 
which one may fairly suppose was intended by the Arabian 
prophet. 

There is, indeed, another view possible—that of M. Gobineau, 
whose deep insight into Persian character entitles his opinion to 
careful consideration—viz., that from the very beginning there 
were latent in the Muhammadan religion the germs of the most 
thorough-going pantheism, and that Muhammad himself did but 
revive and formulate somewhat differently the ancient beliefs of 
Mesopotamia?. Whether this be true or not (and the point is one 


1 See Gobineau’s Religions e¢ Philosophies dans |’ Asie Centrale, especially 
chapter iii, ““La Foi des Arabes.” 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 135 


which, in my opinion, cannot be regarded as altogether settled 
until the history of Sufiism amongst those of Arab race shall have 
been mote carefully studied), there is no doubt that certain 
passages in the Kur’4n are susceptible to a certain degree of 
mystical interpretation. Take, for instance, the 17th verse of the 
8th chapter, where God reminds Muhammad that the victory 
of Bedr was only in appearance won by the valour of the Muslims: 
—“Fia lam taktulihum, wa lakinna daha katalahum ; wa md rameyta 
idh rameyta, wa ldkinna’lldha ramd,’—‘ And thou didst not slay 
them, but God slew them; and thou didst not shoot when thou 
didst shoot, but God shot.” Although there is no need to explain 
this otherwise than as an assurance that God supported the 
faithful in their battles, either by natural or (as the commentators 
assert) by supernatural means, and although it lends itself far 
less readily than many texts in the New and even in the Old 
Testament to mystical interpretation, it nevertheless serves the 
Persian Sufis as a foundation-stone for their pantheistic doc- 
trines. “The Prophet,” they say, ‘“‘did not kill when men fell 
_ by his hand. He did not throw when he cast the handful of stones 
which brought confusion into the ranks of the heathen. He was 
in both cases but a mirror wherein was manifested the might of 
God. God alone was the Real Agent, as He is in all the actions 
which we, in our spiritual blindness, attribute to men. God 
alone Is, and we are but the waves which stir for a moment on 
the surface of the Ocean of Being, even as it runs in the tradition, 
‘God was, and there was naught but He, and it is now even as it was 
then. Shall we say that God’s creation is co-existent with Him? 
Then are we Manichzans and dualists, nay, polytheists; for we 
associate the creature with the Creator. Can we say that the sum 
of Being was increased at the time when the Phenomenal World 
first appeared? Assuredly not; for that would be to regard the 
Being of God as a thing finite and conditioned, because capable 
of enlargement and expansion. What then can we say, except 
that even as God (who alone is endowed with real existence) 


136 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


was in the Beginning and will be in the End (if, indeed, one may 
speak of ‘Beginning’ and ‘End’ where Eternity is concerned, 
and where Time, the element of this illusory dream which we call 
‘Life,’ has no place) alone in His Infinite Splendour, so also, even 
now, He alone 1s, and all else is but as a vision which disturbs the 
night, a cloud which dims the Sun, or a ripple on the bosom of 
the Ocean?” 

In such wise does the Sufi of Persia read the Kur’4n and ex- 
pound its doctrine. Those who are familiar with the different 
developments of Mysticism will not need to be reminded that 
there is hardly any soil, be it ever so barren, where it will not 
strike root; hardly any creed, however stern, however formal, 
round which it will not twine itself. It is, indeed, the eternal 
cry of the human soul for rest; the insatiable longing of a being 
wherein infinite ideals are fettered and cramped by a miserable 
actuality; and so long as man is less than an angel and more than 
a beast, this cry will not for a moment fail to make itself heard. 
Wonderfully uniform, too, is its tenor: in all ages, in all countries, 
in all creeds, whether it come from the Brahmin sage, the Greek 
philosopher, the Persian poet, or the Christian quietist, it is in 
essence an enunciation more or less clear, more or less eloquent, 
of the aspiration of the soul to cease altogether from self, and 
to be at one with God. As such it must awaken in all who are 
sensible of this need an echo of sympathy; and therefore I feel 
that no apology is required for adding a few words more on the 
ideas which underlie all that is finest and most beautiful in Persian 
poetry and Persian thought. 

To the metaphysical conception of God as Pure Being, and 
the ethical conception of God as the Eternally Holy, the Sufi 
superadds another conception, which may be tegarded as the 
keynote of all Mysticism. To him, above all else, God is the 
Eternally Beautiful— Jdndn-i-Hakiki,’ the ‘True Beloved.” 
Before time was, He existed in His Infinite Purity, unrevealed 
and unmanifest. Why was this state changed? Why was the 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 137 


troubled phantasm of the Contingent World evoked from the 
silent depths of the Non-Existent? Let me answer in the words 
of Jami, who, perhaps, of all the mystic poets of Persia best 
knew how to combine depth of thought with sweetness and 
clearness of utterance. Poor as is my rendering of his sublime 
song, it may still suffice to give some idea of the original. The 
passage is from his Yasuf a Zuleykhd*, and runs as follows:— 


“Tn solitude, where Being signless dwelt, 
And all the Universe still dormant lay 
Concealed in selflessness, One Being was 
Exempt from ‘I-’ or ‘Thou-’ ness, and apart 
From all duality; Beauty Supreme, 
Unmanifest, except unto Itself 
By Its own light, yet fraught with power to charm 
The souls of all; concealed in the Unseen, 
An Essence pure, unstained by aught of ill. 
No mirror to reflect Its loveliness, 
Nor comb to touch Its locks; the morning breeze 
Ne’er stirred Its tresses; no collyrium 
Lent lustre to Its eyes: no rosy cheeks 
O’ershadowed by dark curls like hyacinth, 
Nor peach-like down were there; no dusky mole 
Adorned Its face; no eye had yet beheld 
Its image. To Itself It sang of love 
In wordless measures. By Itself It cast 
The die of love. 
But Beauty cannot brook 
Concealment and the veil, nor patient rest 
Unseen and unadmired: ’twill burst all bonds, 
And-from Its prison-casement to the world 
Reveal Itself. See where the tulip grows 
In upland meadows, how in balmy spring 
It decks itself; and how amidst its thorns 
The wild rose rends its garment, and reveals 
Its loveliness. Thou, too, when some rare thought, 
Or beauteous image, or deep mystery 
Flashes across thy soul, canst not endure 
To let it pass, but hold’st it, that perchance 
In speech or writing thou may’st send it forth 
To charm the world. 
1 The passage in question is the 11th section of the poem. It will be found 
on pp. 11-12 of the Lucknow edition, and on pp. 16-17 of Rosenzweig’s 
edition. 


138 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


Wherever Beauty dwells 
Such is its nature, and its heritage 
From Everlasting Beauty, which emerged 
From realms of purity to shine upon 
The worlds, and all the souls which dwell therein. 
One gleam fell from It on the Universe, 
And on the angels, and this single ray 
Dazzled the angels, till their senses whirled 
Like the revolving sky. In divers forms 
Rach mirror showed It forth, and everywhere 
Its praise was chanted in new harmonies. 


Rach speck of matter did He constitute 

A mirror, causing each one to reflect 

The beauty of His visage. From the rose 

Flashed forth His beauty, and the nightingale 
Beholding it, loved madly. From that Light 

The candle drew the lustre which beguiles 

The moth to immolation. On the sun 

His Beauty shone, and straightway from the wave 
The lotus reared its head. Each shining lock 

Of Leyla’s hair attracted Majntn’s heart 

Because some ray divine reflected shone 

In her fair face. "Iwas He to Shirin’s lips 

Who lent that sweetness which had power to steal 
The heart from Parviz, and from Ferhdad life. 


His Beauty everywhere doth show itself, 

And through the forms of earthly beauties shines 
Obscured as through a veil. He did reveal 

His face through Joseph’s coat, and so destroyed 
Zuleykha’s peace. Where’er thou seest a veil, 
Beneath that veil He hides. Whatever heart 
Doth yield to love, He charms it. In His love 
The heart hath life. Longing for Him, the soul 
Hath victory. That heart which seems to love 
The fair ones of this world, loves Him alone. 


Beware! say not, ‘He is All-Beautiful, 
And we His lovers.’ Thou art but the glass, 
And He the Face! confronting it, which casts 
Its image on the mirror. He alone 
Is manifest, and thou in truth art hid. 
1 So it is written in the Kur’dn, “Kullu shey’*” halk” illé wajhu-hu,” 
“All things shall perish save His Face” (Kur’dn, xxviii, 88). 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 139 


Pure Love, like Beauty, coming but from Him, 
Reveals itself in thee. If steadfastly 

Thou canst regard, thou wilt at length perceive 
He is the mirror also—He alike 

The Treasure and the Casket. ‘I,’ and ‘Thou’ 
Have here no place, and are but phantasies 
Vain and unreal. Silence! for this tale 

Is endless, and no eloquence hath power 

To speak of Him. ’Tis best for us to love, 
And suffer silently, being as naught.” 


But is this the sum of the Sufi’s philosophy? Is he to rest 
content with earthly love, because he knows that the lover’s 
homage is in truth rendered, not to the shrine at which he offers 
his devotion, but to the Divine Glory—the Shekinah—which 
inhabits and irradiates it? Not so. Let us listen once more to 
the utterance of Jami— 


“Be thou the thrall of love; make this thine object; 
For this one thing seemeth to wise men worthy. 
Be thou love’s thrall, that thou may’st win thy freedom, 
Bear on thy breast its brand, that thou may’st blithe be. 
Love’s wine will warm thee, and will steal thy senses; 
All else is soulless stupor and self-seeking. 
Remembrances of love refresh the lover, 
Whose voice when lauding love e’er waxeth loudest. 
But that he drained a draught from this deep goblet, 
In the wide worlds not one would wot of Majnun. 
Thousands of wise and well-learned men have wended 
Through life, who, since for love they had no liking, 
Have left nor name, nor note, nor sign, nor story, 
Nor tale for future time, nor fame for fortune. 
Sweet songsters ’midst the birds are found in plenty, 
But, when love’s lore is taught by the love-learned, 
Of moth and nightingale they most make mention. 
Though in this world a hundred tasks thou tryest, 
*Tis love alone which from thyself will save thee. 
Even from earthly love thy face avert not, 
Since to the Real it may serve to raise thee. 
Ere A, B, C are rightly apprehended, 
How canst thou con the pages of thy Kur’4n? 
A sage (so heard I), unto whom a student 
Came craving counsel on the course before him, 
Said, ‘If thy steps be strangers to love’s pathways, 
Depart, learn love, and then return before me! 


140 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


For, shouldst thou fear to drink wine from Form’s flagon, 
Thou canst not drain the draught of the Ideal. 

But yet beware! Be not by Form belated; 

Strive rather with all speed the bridge to traverse. 

If to the bourn thou fain wouldst bear thy baggage 

Upon the bridge let not thy footsteps linger.’’’! 


The renunciation of self is the great lesson to be learned, and 
its first steps may be learned from a merely human love. But 
what is called love is often selfish; rarely absolutely unselfish. 
The test of unselfish love is this, that we should be ready and 
willing to sacrifice our own desires, happiness, even life itself, 
to render the beloved happy, even though we know that our 
sactifice will never be understood or appreciated, and that we 
shall therefore not be rewarded for it by an increase of love or 
gratitude. 

Such is the true love which leads us up to God. We love our 
fellow-creatutes because there is in them something of the 
Divine, some dim reflection of the True Beloved, reminding our 
souls of their origin, home, and destination. From the love of 
the reflection we pass to the love of the Light which casts it; 
and, loving the Light, we at length become one with It, losing 
the false self and gaining the True, therein attaining at length 
to happiness and rest, and becoming one with all that we have 
loved—the Essence of that which constitutes the beauty alike of 
a noble action, a beautiful thought, or a lovely face. 

Such in outline is the Sufi philosophy. Beautiful as it is, and 
wotthy as it is of deeper study, I have said as much about it 
as my space allows, and must pass on to speak of other matters. 

Mysticism is in its nature somewhat vague and difficult to 
formulate, varying in character between an emotional philosophy 
and a devotional religion. On one side of it stands metaphysic, 
and on the other theology. Of Muhammadan theology I do not 


1 These two translations are reprinted, almost without alteration, from 
my article on “Sufiism” in Re/igious Systems of the World (Swan Sonnenschein 
and Co.), where I first published them. 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC I4l 


propose to speak, save incidentally, as occasion arises; neither 
is this the place to treat systematically of the various schools of 
philosophy which have sprung up in Persia. Of the earlier ones, 
indeed, one may say generally that they are adaptations of either 
Aristotle or Plato, and that they may most fitly be described as 
the scholasticism of Islam. Of two of the later philosophers, 
however—Mulla Sadra of Shiraz, and Haji Mulla Hadi of Sab- 
zawat—lI shall say a few words, inasmuch as they mark a new 
development in Persian thought, while at the same time they are 
less known in Europe than the Avicennas, the Ghazzalis, and the 
Farabis of earlier days. 

Mulla Sadru’d-Din Muhammad ibn Ibrahim ibn Yahya, com- 
monly known as Mulla Sadra, flourished in the latter half of the 
seventeenth century. He was the son of a rich merchant of 
Shiraz, who had grown old without being blessed with a son. 
Being very desirous of leaving an heir to inherit his wealth, he 
made a vow that if God would grant him this wish he would 
give the sum of one témdn (about 6s.) a day to the poor for the 
rest of his life. Soon afterwards Mulla Sadra was born, and the 
father faithfully accomplished his vow till his death. When this 
occurred, Mulla Sadra, who had already manifested an unusual 
aptitude for learning and a special taste for philosophy, decided, 
after consulting with his mother, to bestow the greater portion 
of the wealth which he had inherited on the poor, and to go to 
Isfahan to prosecute his studies. 

It was the time when the Safavi kings ruled over Persia, with 
their capital at Isfahan, and the colleges of that city were famed 
throughout the East. Mulla Sadra enquired on his arrival there 
who were the most celebrated teachers of philosophy, and was 
informed that they were three in number, Mir Abuw’l-Kasim 
Fandaraski, Mir Muhammad Bakir, better known as Mir Damad, 
and Sheykh Behda’u’d-Din ‘Amili. He first presented himself 
before Mir Damad, and asked for advice as to his studies. The 
latter replied, “If you want inward meaning only, go to Mir 


142. MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


Fandaraski; if you want mere outward form, go to Sheykh 
Beha; but if you desire to combine both, then come to me.” 
Mulla Sadra accordingly attended the lectures of Mir Damad 
regularly, but did not fail to profit as far as possible by the teach- 
ing of the other professors. 

At length it happened that Mir Damad desired to undertake 
the pilgrimage to Mecca. He therefore bade each of his pupils 
compose during his absence a treatise on some branch of philo- 
sophy, which should be submitted to him on his return, in order 
that he might judge of the progress they had made. Acting on 
this injunction, Mulla Sadra wrote his first great work, the 
Shawdhid-i-Rububiyyé (“Evidences of Divinity”), which he pre- 
sented to his teacher on his return from the pilgrimage. 

Some time afterwards, when Mulla Sadr4 was walking beside 
Mir Damdd, the latter said to him, “Sadrd jda! Kitdb-i-merd az 
meyan burdi!” (“O my dear Sadra, thou hast taken my work out 
of the midst” —meaning that he had superseded it by the work 
which he had just composed). This generous recognition of his 
metit by his teacher was the beginning of a wide celebrity which 
has gone on increasing till this day. Yet this celebrity brought 
him into some danger from the fanatical mu//ds, who did not fail 
to detect in his works the savour of heterodoxy. It was during 
his residence at Kum especially that his life was jeopardised by 
the indignation of these zealots, but on many occasions he was 
subjected to annoyances and persecutions. He lived at a time 
when the clerical power was paramount, and philosophy in dis- 
repute. Had he lived later, he might have been the recipient of 
favours from the great, and have enjoyed tranquillity, and per- 
haps even opulence: as it was, his was the glory of once more 
bringing back philosophy to the land whence it had been almost 
banished. 

Mulla Sadra gained numerous disciples (some of whom, such 
as Mulla Muhsin-i-Feyz, attained to great fame), and left behind 
him a multitude of books, mostly in Arabic, of which the 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 143 


Shawahid-i-Rububiyyé already mentioned, and a mote systematic 
and voluminous work called the Asfar--arba‘a (“Fout treatises’’), 
enjoy the greatest reputation. The three points claimed as original 
in Mulla Sadra’s teaching! are as follows:— 

(1) His axiom “ Basttu’-hakikat kullu’l-ashyd wa leysa bi-shey’” 
minhd”—“'The element of Real Being is all things, yet is none 
of them.” 

(2) His doctrine that true cognition of any object only be- 
comes possible by the identification of the knower with the 
known. 

(3) His assertion that the Imagination is independent of the 
physical organism, and belongs in its nature to the world of the 
soul: hence that not only in young children, but even in animals, 
it persists as a spiritual entity after death. In this point he 
differed from his predecessors, who held that it was only with 
the development of the Rational Soul that immortality became 
possible. 

I must now pass on to Haji Mulla Hadi of Sabzawar, the 
- greatest Persian philosopher of the nineteenth century. He was 
the son of Haji Mahdi, and was born in the year a.H. 1212 (A.D. 
1797-8). He began his studies when only seven years old, under 
the tuition of Haji Mulla Huseyn of Sabzawar, and at the early 
age of twelve composed a small treatise. Anxious to pursue his 
studies in theology and jurisprudence, he visited Mashhad in 
company with his teacher, and remained there for five years, 
living in the most frugal manner (not from necessity, for he was 
far from poor, but from choice), and continuing his studies with 
unremitting ardour. When in his seventeenth year he heard of 
the fame of Mulla ‘Ali Nuri, who was then teaching in Isfahan, 
he was very anxious to proceed thither at once, but was for 
several years prevented from so doing by the opposition of his 


1 A further account of Mulla Sadra, differing in some points from that 
which is here given, will be found in Gobineau’s Re/igions et Philosophies dans 
Ll’ Asie Centrale, pp. 80-90. 


144 ‘MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


friends. Ultimately, however, he was enabled to gratify his 
wishes, and to take up his residence at Isfahan, where he dili- 
gently attended the lectures of Mulla ‘Ali Nuri. He appears, 
however, to have received more advantage from the help of one 
of Mulla ‘Ali’s pupils, named Mulla Isma‘il, “the One-eyed.” 
In Isfahan he remained for seven years, devoting himself with 
such avidity to the study of philosophy that he rarely slept for 
much more than four hours out of the twenty-four. To combat 
slothfulness he was in the habit of reposing on a cloak spread on 
the bare brick floor of the little room which he occupied in the 
college, with nothing but a stone for his pillow. 

The simplicity and indeed austerity of his life was far from 
being his chief or only merit. Being possessed of private means 
— greatly in excess of what his simple requirements demanded, he 
used to take pains to discover which of the students stood most 
in need of pecuniary help, and would then secretly place sums of 
money varying from one to five or even ten /émdns (six shillings 
_ to three pounds) in their rooms during their absence, without 
leaving any clue which could lead to the identification of the 
donor. In this manner he is said to have expended no less than 
100,000 témdns (about £30,000), while he was in Isfahan, leaving 
himself only so much as he deemed necessary for his own main- 
tenance. 

Having completed his studies at Isfahan, he made a pilgrimage 
to Mecca, whence he returned by way of Kirman. There he 
remained for a while and married a wife, whom he took back to 
his native town of Sabzawar. Soon after his return he paid 
another visit to Mashhad, and remained there ten months, giving 
lectures on philosophy, but soon returned thence to settle in 
Sabzawar, whither his increasing renown began to draw students 
from all parts of Persia. During the day he used to give two 
lectures, each of two hours’ duration, on Metaphysics, taking as 
his text either some of the writings of Mulla Sadra, or his own 
notes. The rest of his time was spent for the most part in study 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 145 


and devotion. In person he was tall of stature, thin, and of 
slender frame; his complexion was dark, his face pleasing to 
look upon, his speech eloquent and flowing, his manner gentle, 
unobtrusive, and even humble. His abstemiousness was such 
that he would never eat more than the limited number of mouth- 
fuls which he deemed necessary, neither would he accept the 
invitations which he often received from the great. He was 
always teady to help the widow, the orphan, and the stranger, 
and ever exemplified in his demeanour the apophthegm of Bu 
‘Ali Sina (Avicenna): “A/‘drifu hashsh", bashsh", bassdm'"; wa 
kevfa ld, wa huwa farbdn" bi’l-bakki wa bi-kulli shey?” (“The 
gnostic is gentle, courteous, smiling; and how should it be 
otherwise, since he rejoices in God and in all things?”) The 
complete course of instruction in philosophy which he gave 
lasted seven years, at the end of which period those students 
who had followed it diligently were replaced by others. Many, of 
coutse, were unable to complete their education; but, on the 
whole, neatly a thousand satisfactorily accomplished it. Till 
within three days of his death Haji Mulla Hadi never disappointed 
his eager audience of a single lecture, and he was actually engaged 
in teaching when struck down by the disease which terminated 
his life. The eager throng of students surrounded him in a circle, 
while he was speaking of the Essence and Attributes of God, 
when suddenly he.was overcome by faintness, and laid down the 
book which he held in his hand, saying, “I have so often repeated 
the word ‘Hu, ‘Hw#’” (‘‘He,” ze. God; in which sense only 
the Arabic pronoun is used by the Persians) “‘that it has become 
fixed in my head, and my head, following my tongue, seems to 
keep crying “Hu, ‘Hu.’” Having uttered these words, he laid 
down his head and fainted, and two days later he peacefully 
passed away in the year A.H. 1295 (A.D. 1878), sincerely mourned 
by those to whom he had been endeared alike by his learning 
and his benevolence. He was buried, according to instructions 
contained in his will, outside the Mashhad gate of Sabzawar. 


B Io 


146 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


A handsome tomb has been raised over his grave by orders of the 
Grand Vizier, and the spot is regarded as one of great sanctity, 
and is visited by numerous pilgrims?. 

So died, after a noble and useful life, the Sage of Sabzawar. 
His major works amount to about seventeen in number, in- 
cluding an elementary treatise on philosophy, written in Persian, 
in an easy style, at the request of the Shah, and entitled Asradri’/ 
Hikam (‘Secrets of Philosophy”’). Hewas a poet as wellas a meta- 
physician, and has left behind him a Divan in Persian, as well 
as two long and highly esteemed versified treatises in Arabic, 
one on logic, the other on metaphysic. He had three sons, of 
whom the eldest (who was also by far the most capable) survived 
him only two years; the other two are still [1893] living at 
Sabzawé4r, and one at least of them still teaches in the college on 
which his father’s talents shed so great a lustre. 

The pupils of the Sage of Sabzawar entertained for him an 
unbounded love and veneration. They even believe him to have 
been endowed with the power of working miracles (kerdmdt), 
though he himself never allowed this statement to be made 
before him. My teacher, Mirza Asadu’llah, informed me, how- 
ever, that the following was a well-known fact. Haji Mulla 
Hadi’s son-in-law had a daughter who had been paralysed for 
yeats. One night, a year after the Haji’s death, she saw him in 
a dream, and he said to her, “Arise, my daughter, and walk.” 
The excessive joy which she experienced at seeing him and 
hearing these words caused her to wake up. She immediately 
roused her sister, who was sleeping beside her, and told her 
what she had dreamed. The latter said, ““You had better get up 
and try if you can walk; perhaps there is more in the dream than 
a mete fancy.” After a little persuasion the girl got up, and found 


1 All these details I obtained from my teacher, Mirz4 Asadu’ll4h of 
Sabzawat, who compiled the original memoir, not only from his own 
recollections of his venerated master in philosophy, but from information 
supplied by one of Mulla Hadi’s sons. It is chiefly by reason of the good 
authority on which they rest that I have decided to give them almost in full. 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 147 


to her delight that she really was able to walk quite well. Next 
day she went to the Haji’s tomb to return thanks, accompanied 
by a great crowd of people, to whom her former afHiction was 
as well-known as her present recovery was obvious. 

Another event, less marvellous, however, than the above, was 
related to me as follows. When a detachment of the army was 
passing through Sabzawa4r, a soldier, who had been given a 
requisition for corn for the horses drawn on a certain mul/d, 
brought the document to Haji Mulla Hadi and asked him in 
whose name it was drawn, as he himself was unable to read. 
The Haji looked at it, and, knowing that the ww//d who was 
therein commanded to supply the corn was in impoverished 
circumstances, and could ill support the loss, replied, “I must 
supply you with what you require; go to the storehouse and 
take it.” Accordingly the soldier carried off as much corn as 
he needed, and gave it to the horses. In the morning, however, 
on entering the stable, the soldiers found that the corn was 
untouched. Enquiries were made whence it came, and on its 
being discovered that it was the property of the Haji, it was 
returned to him. This story soon gained currency and credence 
amongst officers and men alike, and added not a little to the Haji’s 
reputation, notwithstanding that he himself continued to make 
light of it, and even to deny it. 

It may not be amiss to give some details as to the course of 
study which those who desired to attend the Haji’s lectures were 
expected to have already pursued, and the subjects in which they 
had to produce evidence of proficiency before they were received 
as his pupils. These preliminary studies were as follows:— 


I. Grammar, Rhetoric, etc. (Edebiyyé), also called “Preliminaries” 
(Mukaddamat).— Under this head is included a competent knowledge 
of Arabic and its grammar, with ability to read such works as Jdmi’s 
commentary, Say#t7, and the Mutawwal. 

II. Logic (Manzik), as contained in such treatises as the Kubrd, the Sham- 
siyyé, and the Sharb-i-Matah'. 
III. Mathematics (including Euclid and Astronomy), which is studied pari- 
passu with Logic. 
10-2 


148 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


IV. Elements of Jurisprudence (F7£A). 
V. Scholastic Theology (‘I/m-i-Keldm), as set forth in the following 
works :— 


1. The Hiddyé of Meybudi, a concise but knotty compendium of the 
elements of this science in Arabic. 

2. The Tajrid of Nasiru’d-Din of Tus, with the commentary of 
Mulla ‘Ali Kushji. 

3. The Shawdrik, of Mulla ‘Abdu’r-Razzak Lahiji, the son-in-law of 
Mulla Sadra. 


Those students who wete able to show that they had acquired 
a satisfactory knowledge of these subjects were allowed to enroll 
themselves as the pupils of Haji Mulla Hadi, and to commence 
their study of Metaphysic proper (Hikmat-i-I/ahi), as set forth 
in his works and in those of Mulla Sadra. 

I trust that I have succeeded in making it sufficiently clear 
that the study of Persian philosophy is not a thing to be lightly 
undertaken, and that proficiency in it can only be the result of 
diligent application, combined with good natural capacity. It 
is not a thing to play with in a dilettante manner, but is properly 
regarded by its votaries as the highest intellectual training, and 
the crown and summit of all knowledge. It was not long ere 
I discovered this fact; and as it was clearly impossible for me to 
go through a tenth part of the proper curriculum, while at the 
same time I was deeply desirous of becoming, in some measute » 
at least, acquainted with the most recent developments of Persian 
thought, I was fain to request my teacher, Mirza Asadu’llah, to 
take compassion on my infirmities, and to instruct me as far as 
possible, and in as simple a manner as possible, concerning the 
essential practical conclusions of the doctrines of which he was 
the exponent. This he kindly exerted himself to do; and though 
any attempt at a systematic enunciation of Haji Mulla Hadi’s 
philosophy, even were I capable of undertaking it, would be out 
of place here, I think that it may not be uninteresting if I notice 
briefly some of its more remarkable features—not as derived 
from his writings, but as orally expounded to me, with explana- 
tions and illustrations, by his pupil and disciple. 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 149 


As in the Sufi doctrine, Being is conceived of as one: “ A/wujuidu 
hakikat™ vdbidat” basttat” va lahu mardtib’ mutafddila” :—“Being 
is a single simple Reality, and it has degrees differing in excellence.” 
Poetically, this idea is expressed in the following quatrain:— 

“ Majmu‘a-i-kawn-ra bi-kantin-i-sabak, 
Kardim tasaffub varak®" ba‘da varak: 
Hakka ki na-khwandim a na-didim dar-u 
Juz Dhat-i-Hakk, u sifat-i-dhatiyyé-i-Hakk.” 
“Like a lesson-book, the compendium of the Universe 
We turned over, leaf after leaf: 
In truth we read and saw therein naught 
Save the Essence of God, and the Essential Attributes of God.” 


The whole Universe, then, is to be regarded as the unfolding, 
manifestation, or projection of God. It is the mirror wherein 
He sees Himself; the arena wherein His various Attributes dis- 
play their nature. It is subsequent to Him not in sequence of 
time (for time is merely the medium which encloses the pheno- 
menal world, and which is, indeed, dependent on this for its 
vety existence), but in sequence of causation; just as the light given 
off by a luminous body is subsequent to the luminosity of that 
body 7 causation (inasmuch as the latter is the source and origin — 
of the former, and that whereon it depends and whereby it sub- 
sists), but not subsequent to it in “me (because it is impossible 
to conceive of any time in the existence of an essentially luminous 
body antecedent to the emission of light therefrom). This 
amounts to saying that the Universe is co-eternal with God, but 
not co-equal, because it is merely an Emanation dependent on 
Him, while He has no need of it. 

Just as the light proceeding from a luminous body becomes 
weaker and more diffuse as it recedes from its source, so the 
Emanations of Being become less real, or, in other words, more 
eross and material, as they become farther removed from their 
focus and origin. This gradual descent or recession from the 
Primal Being, which is called the Kaws-z-Nuzi/ (“Arc of De- 
scent”), has in reality infinite grades, but a certain definite 
number (seven) is usually recognised. 


150 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


Man finds himself in the lowest of these grades—the Material 
World; but of that world he is the highest development, for he 
contains in himself the potentiality of re-ascent, by steps corre- 
sponding to those in the “Arc of Descent,” to God, his Origin 
and his Home. To discover how this return may be effected, 
how the various stages of the Kaws-7-Su‘dd (“Arc of Ascent”) 
may be traversed, is the object of philosophy. 

“The soul of man is corporeal in origin, but spiritual in con- 
tinuance” (“An-nafsu fi’ -hudithi jismaniyya, wa fi l-bakd’i tekunu 
rubdniyya”’). Born of matter, it is yet capable of a spiritual 
development which will lead it back to God, and enable it, during 
the span of a mortal life, to accomplish the ascent from matter 
to spirit, from the periphery to the centre. In the “Arc of 
Ascent” also are numerous grades; but here again, as in the “Arc 
of Descent,” seven are usually recognised. It may be well at 
this point to set down in a tabular form these grades as they 
exist both in the Macrocosm, or Arc of Descent, and in the 
Microcosm, or Arc of Ascent, which is man:— 


I. Arc or ASCENT. II. Arc oF DESCENT. 
SEVEN PRINCIPLES IN MAN 
(Latd’if-i-sab‘a). SERIES OF EMANATIONS. 
1. The most subtle principle (AA+/2). 1. Exploration of the 


World of Divinity 
(Seyr dar ‘alam-i- 


Lahut)*. 
2. The subtle principle (Khafd). 2. The World of Divinity 
(‘Alam-i-Labut)*. 

3. The secret (S7rr). 3. The World of the In- 
telligences (‘Alam-i-Ja- 
barut). 

4. The heart (Ka/b). 4. The World of the Angels 

(‘Alam-i-Malakut). 
5. The spirit (R#). 5. The World of Ideas (‘A/am-i- 
Ma‘nd). 

6. The soul (Nafs). 6. The World of Form (‘Alam-i- 
Surat). 

7. The nature (Tab‘). | 7. The Material World (‘Alam-i- 
Tabi“at). 


* I do not think that these first two should stand thus, for at most they only 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC I5l 


A few words of explanation ate necessary concerning the above 
scheme. Each stage in either column corresponds with that 
which is placed opposite to it. Thus, for instance, the mere 
matter which in the earliest stage of man’s development con- 
stitutes his totality corresponds to the material world to which it 
belongs. In the material world the “‘ Arc of Descent” has reached 
its lowest point; in man, the highest product of the material 
world, the ascent is begun. When the human embryo begins to 
take form it rises to the World of Soul, thus summing up in 
itself two grades of the Arcs. It may never ascend higher than 
this point; for, of course, when the upward evolution of man is 
spoken of, it is not implied that this is effected by all, or even by 
the majority of men. These “seven principles” do not represent 
necessarily co-existing components or elements, but successive 
grades of development, at any one of which, after the first, the 
process of growth may be arrested. The race exists for its highest 
development; humanity for the production of the Perfect Man 
(Insdn-i-Kdmil), who, summing up as he does all the grades of 
ascent from matter—the lowest point of the series of emanations 
—to God, is described as the Microcosm, the compendium of 
all the planes of Existence (fazrat-ijdmi‘), or sometimes as the 
“sixth plane” (hazrat-i-sddisa), because he includes and sum- 
marises all the five spiritual planes. 

It has been said that some men never rise beyond the second 
erade—the World of Soul or Form. These are such as occupy 
themselves entirely during their lives with sensual pursuits— 
mark two different phases in the experience of the soul—an attaining unto the 
World of Divinity, and a journeying therein. My impression is that they 
should be replaced thus :—1. The World of Divinity (7.e. the Divine Essence, 
‘Alam-i-Ldbit); 2. The World of the Attributes (“Alam-i-Rdbit). ‘This corre- 
sponds to the views given in the commentaries on the Fus#s of Sheykh 
Muhyi’d-Din ibnu’l-‘Arabi and other similar works, where the “Five 
Planes” (Hazrat-i-khams), which coincide with the first five grades given here 
(z.e. those which belong to the Spiritual World), are discussed. I have not, 


however, considered myself justified in making any alteration in Mirza Asadu- 
*llah’s scheme. 


152 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


eating, drinking, and the like. Previously to Mulla Sadra it was 
generally held by philosophers that these perished entirely after 
death, inasmuch as they had not developed any really spiritual 
ptinciple. Mull4 Sadr4, however, took great pains to prove that 
even in these cases where the “Rational Soul” (Nafs-7-ndtika) 
had not been developed during life, there did exist a spiritual 
patt which survived death and resisted disintegration. This 
spiritual part he called “Imaginations” (Khiydldt). 

Yet even in this low state of development, where no effort 
has been made to teach the plane of the reason, a man may 
lead an innocent and virtuous life. What will then be the con- 
dition after death of that portion of him which survives the body? 
It cannot re-enter the material world, for that would amount to 
Metempsychosis, which, so far as I have been able to ascertain, 
is uncompromisingly denied by all Persian philosophers. Neither 
can it ascend higher in the spiritual scale, for the period during 
which progress was possible is past. Moreover, it derives no 
pleasure from spiritual or intellectual experiences, and would 
not be happy in one of the higher worlds, even could it attain 
thereto. It desires material surroundings, and yet cannot return 
to the material world. It therefore does what seems to it the next 
best thing: it creates for itself subjective pseudo-material sur- 
roundings, and in this dream-dwelling it makes its eternal home. 
If it has acted rightly in the world according to its lights, it is 
happy; if wrongly, then miserable. The happiness or misery of 
its hereafter depends on its merit, but in either case it is purely 
subjective and absolutely stationary. There is for it neither 
advance nor return: it can neither ascend higher, nor re-enter 
the material world either by Transmigration or Resurrection, 
both of which the philosophers deny. 

What has been said above applies, with slight modifications, 
to all the other grades, at any rate the lower ones. If a man has 
during his life in the world attained to the grade of the spirit 
(the third grade in order of ascent) and acquired rational or 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 153 


intellectual faculties, he may still have used these well or ill. In 
either case he enters after death into the World of Ideas, where 
he is happy or miserable according to his deserts. But, so far 
as I could learn, anyone who has during his life developed any 
of the four highest principles passes after death into a condition 
of happiness and blessedness, since mete intellect without virtue 
will not enable him to pass beyond the third grade, or World of 
the Spirit. According to the degree of development which he 
has reached, he enters the World of the Angels, the World of the 
Intelligences, or the World of Divinity itself. 

From what has been said it will be clear that a bodily resurrec- 
tion and a material hereafter are both categorically denied by the 
philosophers. Nevertheless, states of subjective happiness or 
misery, practically constituting a heaven or hell, exist. These, 
as has been explained, are of different grades in both cases. Thus 
there is a “Paradise of Actions”? (Jannatu’/-Afdl), whete the soul 
is surrounded by an ideal world of beautiful forms; a “Paradise 
of Attributes”’ (Jannatu’s-Sifdt); and a “Paradise of the Essence”’ 
~ (Jannatw dh-Dhdt), which is the highest of all, for there the soul 
enjoys the contemplation of the Divine Perfections, which hold 
it in an eternal rapture, and cause it to forget and cease to desire 
all those objects which constitute the pleasure of the denizens of 
the lower paradises. It is, indeed, unconscious of aught but God, 
and is annihilated or absorbed in Him. 

The lower subjective worlds, where the less fully developed 
soul suffers or rejoices, are often spoken of collectively as the 
‘ Alam-i-Mithdl (“ World of Similitudes”’), or the ‘A/am-i-Barzakb 
(“World of the Barrier,” or “Border-world”’). The first term 
is applied to it because each of its denizens takes a form corre- 
sponding to his attributes. In this sense ‘Omar Khayyam has 
said1— 

“ Razi ki jexd-yi-har sifat khwahad bid 
Kadr-i-tu bi-kadr-1-ma’rifat khwahad bid; 


1 Ed. Whinfield, London, 1883, p. 155, No. 228. 


154 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
Dar busn-i-sifat kush, ki dar ruz-ijexd 
Hashr-i-tu bi-strat-i-sifat khwabad bid.” 
“On that day when all qualities shall receive their recompense 
Thy worth shall be in proportion to thy wisdom. 
Strive after good qualities, for in the Day of Recompense 
Thy resurrection shall be in the form of the attribute.” 
Thus a greedy gluttonous man takes the form of a pig, and it 
is in this sense only that metempsychosis (tandsukh) is held by 
the Persian philosophers. On this point my teacher was perfectly 
clear and definite. It is not uncommon for Sufis to describe a 
man by the form with which they profess to identify him in the 
“World of Similitudes.” Thus.I have heard a Sufi say to his 
antagonist, “I see you in the World of Similitudes as an old 
toothless fox, desirous of preying upon others, but unable to do 
so.” I once said to Mirza Asadu’llah that, if I rightly understood 
his views, hell was nothing else than an eternal nightmare: 
whereat he smiled, and said that I had rightly apprehended his 
meaning. 

Although a soul cannot rise higher than that world to which 
it has assimilated itself during life, it may be delayed by lower 
affinities in the “‘ World of the Barrier” on its way thither. All 
bad habits, even when insufficient to present a permanent 
obstacle to spiritual progress, tend to cause: such delay, and to 
retatd the upward ascent of the soul. From this it will be seen 
that the denizens of the “World of the Barrier” are of three 
classes, two of these being permanent, and abiding for ever in 
the state of subjective happiness or misery which they have 
merited, and the third consisting of souls temporarily delayed 
there to undergo a species of probation before passing to the 
worlds above. 

On one occasion I put the following question to Mirza Asadu- 
’llah:—“'Two persons, A and B, have been friends during their 
lifetime. The former has so lived as to merit happiness hereafter; 
the latter, misery. Both die and enter the ‘World of the Barrier,’ 
there receiving forms appropriate to their attributes; the one, 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 15; 


moreover, is happy, the other wretched. Will not A have cog- 
nisance of B’s miserable condition, and will not this knowledge 
tend to mar his felicity?”’ 

To this question my teacher replied as follows:—“ A’s world 
is altogether apart from B’s, and the two are entirely out of con- 
tact. In A’s world are present all things that he desires to have 
in such form as he pleases, for his world is the creation of his 
Imaginative Faculty freed from the restraints of matter and the 
outward senses, and endowed with full power to see what it 
conceives. Therefore if A desires the presence of B as he knew 
him formerly, B will be present with him in that form under 
which he was so known, and not in the repulsive form which 
he has now assumed. There is no mote difficulty in this than in 
a person dreaming in ordinary sleep that he sees one of his friends 
in a state of happiness when at that very time his friend is in great 
pain or trouble.” 

Such, in outline, are the more remarkable features of this 
philosophy as expounded to me by Mirza Asadu’llah. That it 
_ differs considerably from the ideas formed by most European 
scholars of the philosophy current in Persia, as represented in 
the books, I am well aware. I can only suppose that Gobineau 
is tight as to the extent to which the system of “ketmdn”’ (con- 
cealment of opinions) prevails in Persia—a view which my own 
experience strongly tends to confirm. He says, for example, in 
speaking of Mulla Sadra (Religions et Philosophies dans P Asie 
Centrale, p. 88), in whose footsteps Haji Mulla Hadi for the most 
part followed:— 

“Le soin qu'il prenait de déguiser ses discouts, il était néces- 
saite qu'il le prit surtout de déguiser ses livres; c’est ce qu’il a 
fait, et a les lire on se ferait lidée la plus imparfaite de son 
enseignement. Je dis a les lire sans un maitre qui posséde la 
tradition. Autrement on y pénétre sans peine.”’ Such a system of 
concealment may seem strange to those accustomed to the liberty 
of thought enjoyed in Europe, but it is rendered necessary in the 


156 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


East by the power and intolerance of the clergy. Many a philo- 
sopher like Sheykh Shih4bu’d-Din Suhravardi, many a Sufi like 
Manstr-i-Hall4j, has paid with his life for too free and open an 
expression of his opinions. 

For the rest, many of the ideas here enunciated bear an extra- 
ordinary similarity to those set forth by Mr Sinnett in his work 
entitled Esoteric Buddhism. Great exception has been taken to 
this work, and especially it has been asserted that the ideas un- 
folded in it are totally foreign to Buddhism of any sort. Of this 
I am not in a position to judge: very possibly it is true, though 
even then the ideas in question may still be of Indian origin. 
But whatever the explanation be, no one, I feel sute, can compare 
the chapters in Mr Sinnett’s book, entitled respectively, “The 
Constitution of Man,” “Devachan,” and “Kama Loca,” with 
what I have written of Haji Mulla Hadi’s views on the Nature 
of Man and his Hereafter, without being much struck by the 
resemblance. 

Certain other points merit a brief notice. The physical sciences 
as known to Persian philosophy are those of the ancients. Theit 
chemistry regards earth, air, fire, and water as the four elements: 
their astronomy is simply the Ptolemaic system. Furthermore 
they regard the Universe as finite, and adduce many proofs, 
some tather ingenious, others weak enough, against the contrary 
hypothesis. Of these I will give one only as a specimen. 

“Let us suppose,” they say, “‘that the Universe is infinite. 
Then from the centre of the earth draw two straight lines, diverg- 
ing from one another at an angle of 60°, to the circumference, 
and produce them thence to infinity. Join their terminal points 
by another straight line, thus forming the base of the triangle. 
Now, since the two sides of the triangle are equal (for both were 
drawn from one point to infinity), therefore the angles at the 
base are equal; and since the angle at the apex is 60°, therefore 
each of the remaining angles is 60°, and the triangle is equilateral. 
Therefore, since the sides are infinite in length, the base is also 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 157 


infinite in length. But the base is a straight line joining two 
points (viz. the terminal points of the sides); that is to say, it is 
limited in both directions. Therefore it is not infinite in length, 
neither are the sides infinite in length, and a straight line cannot 
be drawn to infinity. Therefore the Universe is finite. Q.E.D.” 

This theorem scarcely needs comment. It, along with the 
endless discussions of a similar nature on the “Indivisible Atom” 
(Jawhar-i-fard) and the like, is an inheritance from the scholastic 
theology (‘I/m-i-Keldm), the physics of which have been retained 
by all Persian metaphysicians up to the present day. 

A few words may be said about the psychology of the system 
in question. Five psychic faculties (corresponding to the five 
senses) ate supposed to exist. These, with their cerebral seats, are 


as follows:— 

1. The compound perception (Hiss-z-mushtaraké), which 
has the double function of receiving and apprehending 
impressions from without. It is compared to a two- 
faced mirror, because on the one hand it “reflects”’ 
the outward world as presented to it by the senses, 
and on the other, during sleep, it gives form to the 
ideas arising in the Mutasarrifa, which will be men- 
tioned directly. 

2. The Imagination (Khzya/), which is the storehouse of 
forms. 

3. The Controlling or Co-ordinating Faculty (Mufa- 
sarrifa), which combines and elaborates the emotions 
or ideas stored in the Vahimé, and the images stored in 

Mip-BraINn the Imagination. It is therefore sometimes called the 

“keeper of the two treasuries.” 
4. The Emotional Faculty (Vahimé), which is the seat 
\ of love, hate, fear, and the like. 


Hinp-Bratn — 5. The Memory (Hafiza), which is the storehouse of ideas. 


ForRE-BRAIN 


All these faculties are partial percipients (Madrikdt-ijuz’ iyyé), 
and are the servants of the Reason (“Ak/i-kullt-i-insdnt, or Nafs-i- 
ndtika), which is the General Percipient (Mudrik-i-kullt), Of these 
faculties the Imagination would appear to be regarded as the 
highest, since, as we have seen, in those cases in which the 
Reason or Rational Soul (Nafs-i-ndtika) is not developed, it 


158 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


constitutes that portion of the individual which survives death 
and resists disintegration. Indeed these five faculties are better 
regarded as different stages in the development of the Reason. 
Nothing below the plane of the Imagination, however, survives 
death: e.g. in the lowest animals, whose culminating faculty is 
a sense of touch (like worms), death brings about complete 
disintegration. 

Finally, a few words may be added concerning the view taken 
of the occult sciences. I was naturally desirous to learn to what 
extent they were recognised as true, and accordingly questioned 
Mirza Asadu’llah on the matter. His reply (which fairly repre- 
sents the opinion of most thoughtful Persians of the old school) 
was briefly to this effect:-—As regards Geomancy (‘I/m-i-raml) 
and Astrology (‘I/m-i-nujim) he had no doubt of their truth, of 
which he had had positive proof. At the same time, of the 
number of those who professed to understand them the majority 
wete impostors and charlatans. Their acquisition was very 
laborious, and required many years’ patient study, and those 
who had acquired them and knew their value were, as a rule, very 
slow to exhibit or make a parade of their knowledge. As regards 
the interpretation of dreams, he said that these were of three 
kinds, of which only the last admits of interpretation. These 
three classes are as follows:— 


I.—DREAMS DUE TO DISORDERED HEALTH.— 


1. Blood. Red things, such as fire, etc., are 
seen. 

2. Bile. Yellow things, such as the sun, 
gold, etc., are seen. 

3. Phlegm. White things, such as water, 
snow, etc., ate seen. 

4. Melancholy. Black things, such as ink, 
etc., ate seen. 


Due to predominance of — 


II.—DREAMS ARISING FROM IMPRESSIONS PRODUCED DURING WAKING Hours. 


I1].—DREAMS NOT ARISING FROM THE EXTERNAL OR INTERNAL CAUSES 
ABOVE ENUMERATED.—These are teflections obtained during sleep 
from the World of Similitudes (“A/am-é-Mithd/). In some rare cases 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 159 


they indicate events as they actually will occur. Generally, however, 
they show them forth in a symbolical manner, and require interpreta- 
tion. Just as every man has his appropriate “form” in the World of 
Similitudes, so also has everything else. Knowledge, for instance, is 
symbolised by mi/k; an enemy by a wolf, etc. 

I discussed the occult sciences with several of my friends, to 
discover as far as possible the prevailing opinion about them. One 
of them made use of the following argument to prove their 
existence: —‘‘God,” he said, “‘has no bukf/ (stinginess, avarice): 
it is impossible for Him to withhold from anyone a thing for 
which he strives with sufficient earnestness. Just as, if a man 
devotes all his energies to the pursuit of spiritual knowledge, he 
attains to it, so, if he chooses to make occult sciences and magical 
powers the object of his aspirations, they will assuredly not be 
withheld from him.” 

Another of my intimate friends gave me the following account 
of an attempt at conjuration (¢hydr-i-jinn) at which he had himself 
assisted:—‘“* My uncle, Mirza »” he said, ““whose house you 
may perhaps see when you visit Shiraz, was a great believer in 
the occult sciences, in the pursuit of which, indeed, he dissipated 
a considerable fortune, being always surrounded by a host of. 
magicians, geomancers, astrologers, and the like. On one 
occasion something of value had disappeared, and it was believed 
to have been stolen. It was therefore determined to make an 
attempt to discover the thief by resorting to a conjuration, which — 
was undertaken by a certain Seyyid of Shiraz, skilled in these 
matters. Now you must know that the operator cannot himself 
see the forms of the jimnis whom he evokes: he needs for this 
purpose the assistance of a young child. I, being then quite a 
child, was selected as his assistant. The magician began by draw- 
ing a talismanic figure in ink on the palm of my hand, over 
which he subsequently rubbed a mixture of ink and oil, so that 
it was no longer visible. He then commenced his incantations; 
and before long I, gazing steadily, as I had been instructed to 
do, into the palm of my hand, saw, reflected in it as it were, 





160 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


a tiny figure which I recognised as myself. I informed the 
magician of this, and he commanded me to address it in a 
peremptory manner and bid it summon the ‘King of the jimnis’ 
(Maliku’ljinn). 1 did so, and immediately a second figure ap- 
peared in the ink-mirror. Then I was frightened, and began to 
cry, and hastily rubbed the ink off my hand. Thereupon another 
boy was brought, and the same process was repeated till the 
‘King of the jimnis’ appeared. ‘Tell him to summon his vagir,’ 
said the magician. The boy did so, and the vazir also appeared 
in the ink-mirror. A number of other jzmnzs were similarly called 
up, one by one, and when they were all present they were ordered 
to be seated. Then the magician took a number of slips of paper, 
wrote on each of them the name of one of those resident in the 
house, and placed them under his foot. He then drew out one 
without looking at it, and called out to the boy, ‘Who is here?’ 
The boy immediately read off the name in question in the ink- 
mirror. The same process was repeated till the name of one of 
the servants in the house was reached. ‘Well,’ said the magician, 
‘why do you not tell me what you see in the mirror?’ ‘I see 
nothing,’ answered the boy. ‘Look again,’ said the magician; 
‘gaze mote fixedly on the mirror.’ After a little while the boy 
said, ‘I see no name, but only the words Bésmi’//dhi’r-Rahmdni’r- 
Rahim’ (‘In the name of God, the Merciful, the Clement’). ‘This,’ 
said the magician, ‘which I hold in my hand is the name of the 
thief.” The man in question was summoned and interrogated, 
and finally confessed that he had stolen the missing article, which 
he was compelled to restore.” 

In this connection it may not be out of place to give the 
experiences of another experimenter in the occult sciences, who, 
although at the time sufficiently alarmed by the results he 
obtained, subsequently became convinced that they were merely 
due to an excited imagination. My informant in this case was 
a philosopher of Isfahan, entitled Aminu’sh-Shari‘at, who came 
to Teheran in the company of his friend and patron, the Bandnu’/- 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 161 


Mulk, one of the chief ministers of the Zi//v’s-Sultdn. I saw him 
on several occasions, and had long discussions with him on 
religion and philosophy. He spoke somewhat bitterly of the 
vanity of all systems. “I have tried most of them,” he said. “I 
have been in turn Musulman, Sufi, Sheykhi, and even Babi. At 
one time of my life I devoted myself to the occult sciences, and 
made an attempt to obtain control over the jinnis (Taskhir-i-jinn), 
with what results I will tell you. You must know, in the first 
place, that the modus operandi is as follows:—The seeker after. 
this power chooses some solitary and dismal spot, such as the 
Hazar-Déré at Isfahan (the place selected by me). There he must 
remain for forty days, which period of retirement we call chil. 
He spends the greater part of this time in incantations in the 
Arabic language, which he recites within the area of the mandal, 
or geometrical figure, which he must describe in a certain way 
on the ground. Besides this, he must eat very little food, and 
diminish the amount daily. If he has faithfully observed all these 
details, on the twenty-first day a lion will appear, and will enter 
the magic circle. The operator must not allow himself to be 
terrified by this apparition, and, above all, must on no account 
quit the mandal, else he will lose the results of all his pains. If 
he resists the lion, other terrible forms will come to him on sub- 
sequent days—tigers, dragons, and the like—which he must 
similarly withstand. If he holds his ground till the fortieth day, 
he has attained his object, and the jznis, having been unable to 
get the mastery over him, will have to become his servants and 
obey all his behests. Well, I faithfully observed all the necessary 
conditions, and on the twenty-first day, sure enough, a lion 
appeared and entered the circle. I was horribly frightened, but 
all the same I stood my ground, although I came near to fainting 
with terror. Next day a tiger came, and still I succeeded in 
resisting the impulse which urged me to flee. But when, on 
the following day, a most hideous and frightful dragon appeared, 
I could no longer control my terror, and rushed from the circle, 


B It 


162 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


renouncing all further attempts at obtaining the mastery over 
the jinnis. When some time had elapsed after this, and I had 
pursued my studies in philosophy further, I came to the con- 
clusion that I had been the victim of hallucinations excited by 
expectation, solitude, hunger, and long vigils; and, with a view 
to testing the truth of this hypothesis, I again repeated the same 
process which I had before practised, this time in a spirit of 
philosophical incredulity. My expectations were justified; I saw 
absolutely nothing. And there is another fact which proves to 
my mind that the phantoms I saw on the first occasion had no 
existence outside my own brain. I had never seen a teal lion 
then, and my ideas about the appearance of that animal were 
entirely derived from the pictures which may be seen over the 
doors of baths in this country. Now, the lion which I saw in the 
magic citcle was exactly like the latter in form and colouring, 
and therefore, as I need hardly say, differed considerably in aspect 
from a teal lion.” 

In Teheran I saw another philosopher of some reputation, 
Mirza Abw’l-Hasan-1-Jilvé. The last of these names is the sak- 
hallus ot nom de guerre under which he writes poetry—for he is a 
poet as well as a metaphysician. Unfortunately I did not have the 
advantage of any prolonged conversation with him, and even 
such as I had chiefly consisted in answering his questions on the 
different phases of European thought. He was greatly interested 
in what I told him about the Theosophists and Vegetarians, and 
was anxious to know whether the Plymouth Brethren were 
believers in the transmigration of souls! 

Although, as will have already appeared, I acquired a con- 
siderable amount of information about certain phases of Persian 
thought during my sojourn in Teheran, there was one which, 
notwithstanding my most strenuous efforts and diligent en- 
quiries, had hitherto eluded all my attempts to approach it. This 
one was Babiism, of the history of which I have already had 
occasion to speak more than once, and to which I shall have to 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 163 


refer repeatedly in the course of subsequent chapters. Although 
I exerted to the utmost all the skill, all the tact, and all the 
caution which I had at my command, I was completely foiled 
in my attempts to communicate with the proscribed sect. I 
heard something about them, it is true, and what I heard served 
only to increase my desite to know more. I was told tales of 
their unflinching courage under torture, of their unshakable 
faith, of their marvellous skill in argument. “I once met one of 
them,” said a man of great learning to me, “‘as I was returning 
from Kerbela, and he succeeded in drawing me into a discussion 
on religious matters. So completely was I worsted by him at 
every turn, so thorough was his knowledge of the Kur’4n and 
Traditions, and so ingenious was the use he made of this know- 
ledge, that I was finally compelled to effect my escape from his 
irresistible logic by declaring myself to be é-madhbhab (a free- 
thinker); whereupon he left me, saying that with such he had 
nothing to do.” 

But whether my friends could not give me the knowledge 
I sought for, or whether they did not choose to do so, I was 
unable during my stay in Teheran to become acquainted with 
any members of the sect in question. Some, indeed, of those 
with whom I was acquainted at that time were, as I subsequently 
discovered, actually Babis; yet these, although at times they asked 
me about the coutse of my studies, commended my devotion 
to philosophy, and even tantalised me with vague promises of 
introductions to mysterious friends, who were, as they would 
imply, endowed with true wisdom (ma‘rifat), would say nothing 
definite, and appeared afraid to speak more openly. After 
arousing my curiosity to the highest pitch, and making me fancy 
that I was on the threshold of some discovery, they would 
suddenly leave me with an expression of regret that opportu- 
nities for prolonged and confidential conversation were so rare. 

I tried to obtain information from an American missionary, 
with similar lack of success. He admitted that he had fore- 


1a nee} 


164 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


gathered with Babis, but added that he did not encourage them 
to come and discuss their ideas, which he regarded as mischievous 
and fanciful. I asked how he succeeded in recognising them, 
since I had sought eagerly for them and had failed to find them. 
He replied that there was not much difficulty in identifying them 
by their conversation, as they always spoke on religious topics 
~whenever an opportunity presented itself, and dwelt especially 
on the need of a fuller revelation, caused by the progress of the 
human race. Beyond this I could learn nothing from him. Once, 
indeed, I thought that I had succeeded in meeting with one of 
the sect in the person of an old Shirazi merchant, who, to my 
astonishment, launched forth before several other Persians who 
were present on the excellences of the new religion. He declared 
that of their sacred books those written in Arabic were more 
eloquent than the Kur’an, and those composed in Persian superior 
in style to the writings of Sa‘di. He spoke of an Arabic book 
of theirs, of which a copy, written in gold, and worth at least 
500 timdns (£150), existed in Teheran. This, he added, he might 
perhaps some day take me to see. All the time he was talking he 
kept looking at me in a peculiar way as though to watch the effect 
produced by his words. I met him once again when no one else 
was present, and easily induced him to resume the topic. He 
spoke of the numerous signs and wonders which had heralded 
the birth of Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad, the Bab; of the wonderful 
quickness of apprehension manifested by him when still but a 
child; and of the strange puzzling questions he used sometimes 
to put to his teachers. Thus, on one occasion when he was 
receiving instruction in Arabic grammar, he suddenly demanded, 
*** Huwa’ kist?”’ (“Who ts ‘He’?”’). My informant further declared 
that the Franco-German war and other events had been foretold 
by the Bab’s successor! some time before they actually occurred. 


1 2.¢., Mirza Huseyn ‘Ali Beha’u’/ldh, now deceased, who was regarded by 
most of the Babis as “He whom God shall manifest.”” See my first paper on 
“The Babis of Persia,” in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for July 1889, 


p- 492, and pp. 348-9 infra. 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 165 


On another occasion, in my eagerness to acquire knowledge 
on this matter, I committed a great indiscretion, and, I fear, 
caused considerable pain to my teacher, Mirz4 Asadu’llah. I had 
been informed that he had some time previously been arrested 
as a Babi, and though he was released almost immediately on the 
representations of the English Embassy, it was hinted to me that 
possibly this powerful protection, rather than any clear proof 
of his orthodoxy, was the cause of his liberation. I therefore 
determined to sound him on the matter, and, unable to control 
my impatience and await a favourable opportunity, I approached 
the subject as cautiously as I could the very next time that I saw 
him. Alluding to a previous discussion on the finality attributed 
by Muhammadans to the revelation of their prophet, I said that 
I had recently heard that there existed in Persia a number of 
people who denied this, and alleged that a subsequent revelation 
had been accorded to mankind even within the lifetime of many 
still living. Mirza Asadu’llah listened to what I said with a 
gradually increasing expression of dismay, which warned me that 
I was treading on dangerous ground, and made me begin to 
regret that I had been so precipitate. When I had finished, he 
continued silent for a few minutes, and then spoke as follows:— 

“T have no knowledge of these people, although you have 
perhaps been informed of the circumstances which give me good 
cause to remember their name. As you have probably heard 
some account of these, I may as well tell you the true version. 
Two or three years ago I was arrested in the village of Kulahak 
(which, as you know, serves the English residents for a summer 
retreat) by an officer in command of a party of soldiers sent to 
seize another person suspected of being a Babi. They had been 
unable to find him, and were returning disappointed from their 
quest when they espied me. ‘Seize him!’ said the officer; “that 
he is devoted to philosophy every one knows, and a philosopher 
is not far removed from a Babi.’ Accordingly I was arrested, 
and the books I was carrying, as well as a sum of money which 


166 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 


I had on me, were taken from me by the officer in command. I 
was brought before the Nd’tbu’s-Sal/tana and accused of being a 
Babi. Many learned and pious men, including several mullds, 
hearing of my arrest, and knowing the utter falsity of the charge, 
appeared spontaneously to give evidence in my favour, and I was 
eventually released. But the money and the books taken from 
me I never recovered; and then the shame of it, the shame of 
it! But though, as you see, I have suffered much by reason of 
these people of whom you spoke just now, I have never met with 
them or had any dealings with them, save on one occasion. I 
was once returning from Sabzawdr through Mazandaran, and 
at each of the more important towns on my way I halted for 
a few days to visit those interested in philosophy. Many of 
them were very anxious to learn about the doctrines of my 
master, Haji Mulla Hadi, and I was, as a rule, well received and 
kindly entertained. One day—it was at Sari—I was surrounded 
by a number of students who had come to question me on the 
views of my master, when a man present produced a book from 
which he read some extracts. This book, he said, was called 
‘EHakikat-i-Basita, and, as this was a term used by Haji Mulla 
Hadi, I thought it bore some reference to the philosophy I was 
expounding. I accordingly stretched out my hand to take the 
book, but the man drew it back out of my teach. Though I was 
displeased at his behaviour, I endeavoured to conceal my annoy- 
ance, and allowed him to continue to read. Presently he came to 
the term ‘wardtib-i-abadiyyat’ (‘degrees of the Primal Unity’). Here 
I interrupted him. ‘I do not know who the author of the work 
you hold in your hand may be,’ I said, “but it is clear to me that 
he does not understand what he is talking about. To speak of 
the degrees of Primal Unity, which is Pure and Undifferentiated 
Being, is sheer nonsense.’ Some discussion ensued, and eventually 
I was permitted to look at the book. Then I saw that it was very 
beautifully written and adorned with gold, and it flashed upon 
me that what I held in my hand was one of the sacred books of 


MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 167 


the Babis, and that those amongst whom I stood belonged to 
this redoubtable sect. That is the only time I ever came across 
them, and that is all that I know about them.” 

And that was all—or nearly all—that I knew about them for 
the first four months I spent in Persia. How I came across them 
at last will be set forth in another chapter. 








CrP a Ee Revert 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


“Cur.— But what have you seen?’ said Christian. 

““Mrn.—‘ Seen! Why, the Valley itself, which is as dark as pitch; we also 
saw there the Hobgoblins, Satyrs, and Dragons of the Pit: we heard also in 
that Valley a continual Howling and Yelling, as of a People under unutterable 
misery, who there sat bound in affliction and Irons; and over that Valley 
hang the discouraging clouds of Confusion; Death also doth always spread 
his wings over it: in a word it is every whit dreadful, being utterly without 
Order.’”—(Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress.) 


LTHOUGH, owing to the kindness of my friends, life in 
the capital was pleasant enough to make me in no hurry to 
leave it, nevertheless the praises of beautiful Shiraz and the de- 
sctiptions of venerable Persepolis which I so often heard were 
not without their effect. I began to grow restless, and to suffer 
a kind of dread lest, if I tarried much longer, some unforeseen 
event might occur to cut short my travels and to prevent me 
from teaching what was really the goal of my journey. After 
all, Persis (Fars) is really Persia, and Shiraz is the capital thereof; 
to visit Persia and not to reach Fars is only a degree better than 
staying at home. Therefore, when one morning the Nawwaéb 
came into my room to inform me that he had received instructions 
to proceed to Mashhad in the course of a week or two, and asked 
me what I would do, I replied without hesitation that I would 
start for the South. As he expected to leave Teheran about 
1oth February, I determined to arrange my departure for the 7th, 
which, being my birthday, seemed to me an auspicious day for 
resuming my travels. 
‘Ali the Turk having gone South with H——, I was for a time 
left without a servant. Soon after I had become the guest of the 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 169 


Nawwab, however, he advised me to obtain one, and promised 
to help me in finding some one who would suit me. I was anxious 
to have a genuine Persian of the South this time, and finally 
succeeded in engaging a man who appeared in every respect to 
satisfy my requirements. He was a fine-looking young fellow, 
of rather distinguished appearance, and a native of Shiraz. He 
made no boast of any special accomplishments, and was satisfied 
to teceive the very moderate sum of three té4mdns a month while 
in Teheran, where he had a house and a wife; he proved, how- 
ever, to be an excellent cook, and an admirable servant in every 
respect, though inclined at times to manifest a spirit of inde- 
pendence. 

Haji Safar—for that was his name—teceived the announce- 
ment that I should start for the South in a few days with evident 
satisfaction. A Persian servant has everything to gain when his 
master undertakes a journey. In the first place his wages are 
raised fifty per cent. to supply him with money for his expenses 
on the road (re). In the second place he receives, before starting, 
an additional sum of money (generally equivalent to a month’s 
wages) to provide himself with requisites for the road, this 
allowance being known as pali-chekmé va shalwdr (“boots and 
breeches money’’). In the third place he has more chance of 
making himself indispensable to his master, and so obtaining 
increased wages. Last of all, there is probably hardly a Persian 
to be found who does not enjoy travelling for its own sake, 
though in this particular case the charm of novelty was lacking, 
for Haji Safar had visited not only Mecca and Kerbela, but nearly 
all the more important towns in Persia as well. 

Four or five days before the date fixed for my departure, he 
brought me a formidable list of necessaries for the troad— 
cooking-pots, with all the appliances for making pildy; saddle- 
bags, sponges, cloths, towels, whips, cups, glasses, spits, brooms, 
tongs, and a host of other articles, many of which seemed to 
me unnecessary, besides quantities of rice, onions, potatoes, tea, 


170 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


sugar, candles, matches, honey, cheese, charcoal, butter, and other 
etoceties. I struck out a few of what I regarded as the most 
useless articles, for it appeared to me that with such stores we 
might be going to Khiva, whereas we should actually arrive at 
the considerable town of Kum three or four days after leaving 
Teheran. On the whole, however, I let him have his own way, 
in consequence of which I enjoyed a degree of comfort in my 
future journeyings hitherto quite unknown to me, whilst the 
addition to my expenses was comparatively slight. 

Then began the period of activity and bustle which inevitably 
precedes a journey, even on the smallest scale, in the East. Every 
day I was down in the bazaars with Haji Safar, buying cooking 
utensils, choosing tobaccos, and examining the merits of saddle- 
bags, till I was perfectly weary of the bargaining, the delays, and 
the endless scrutiny of goods which had to be gone through 
before the outfit was complete. Indeed at last I nearly despaired 
of being ready in time to start on the appointed day, and resigned 
the management into Haji Safar’s hands almost entirely, only 
requesting him not to invest in any perfectly useless chattels or 
provisions. 

Another and a yet more important matter still remained, to wit, 
the discovery of a muleteer possessed of a small number of 
reasonably good animals, prepared to start on the day I had fixed, 
and willing to make the stages as I wished. This matter I regarded 
as too important to be arranged by deputy, for, when one is 
travelling by oneself, the pleasantness of the journey greatly 
depends on having a cheerful, communicative, and good-natured 
muleteer. Such an one will beguile the way with an endless 
seties of anecdotes, will communicate to the traveller the weird 
folk-lore of the desert, will point out a hundred objects of interest 
which would otherwise be passed unnoticed, and will manage 
to arrange the stages so as to enable him to see to the best 
advantage anything worth seeing. A cross-grained, surly fellow, 
on the other hand, will cast a continual gloom over the caravan, 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 171 


and will throw difficulties in the way of every deviation from the 
accustomed routine. 

Here I must speak a few words in favour of the much-maligned 
charvdddr. As fat as my experience goes, he is, as a tule, one of 
the best fellows living. During the period which elapses between 
the conclusion of the agreement and the actual start, he is, in- 
deed, troublesome and vexatious beyond measure. He will invent 
endless excuses for making extra charges; he will put forward a 
dozen reasons against starting on the proposed day, or following 
the proposed route, or halting at the places where one desires to 
halt. On the day of departure he will rouse one at a preter- 
naturally early hour, alleging that the stage is a long one, that it 
is eight good farsakhs at least, that it is dangerous to be on the 
road after dark, and the like. Then, just as you are nearly ready, 
he will disappear to procure some hitherto forgotten necessary 
for the journey, ot to say farewell to his wife, or to fetch one of 
those scraps of sacking or ropes which supply him with an un- 
failing excuse for absenting himself. Finally, you will not get off 
till the sun is well past the meridian, and may think yourself 
fortunate if you accomplish a stage of ten miles. 

But when once he is fairly started he becomes a different man. 
With the dust of the city he shakes off the exasperating manner 
which has hitherto made him so objectionable. He sniffs the 
pure exhilarating air of the desert, he strides forward manfully 
on the broad interminable road (which is, indeed, for the most 
part but the track worn by countless generations of travellers), 
he beguiles the tediousness of the march with songs and stories, 
interrupted by occasional shouts of encouragement or warning 
to his animals. His life is a hard one, and he has to put up with 
many disagreeables; so that he might be pardoned even if he lost 
his temper oftener than he usually does. 

For some time my efforts to discover a suitable muleteer were 
fruitless. I needed only three animals, and I did not wish to 
attach myself to a large caravan, foreseeing that it would lead 


172 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


to difficulties in case I desired to halt on the way or deviate from 
the regular track. A very satisfactory arrangement concluded 
with two young natives of Kum, who had exactly the number of 
animals I required, was broken off by their father, who wished 
to make me hire his beasts by the day instead of for the whole 
distance to Isfahan. To this I refused to agree, fearing that he 
might protract the journey unduly, and the contract was therefore 
annulled. At length, however, two days before I had intended to 
statt, a muleteer who appeared in every way suitable presented 
himself. He was a native of the hamlet of Gez, near Isfahan, 
Rahim by name; a clumsy-looking, weather-beaten young man, 
the excessive plainness of whose broad, smooth face was te- 
deemed by an almost perpetual smile. The bargain was concluded 
in a few minutes. He engaged to provide me with three good 
animals, to convey me to Isfahan in twelve or thirteen days and 
to allow me a halt of one day each at Kum and Kashan, for the 
sum of ten témdns (nearly £3). 

All was now teady for the journey, and there only remained 
the always somewhat depressing business of leave-taking, which 
fully occupied my last hours in Teherdn. Finally the day of 
departure came, but (as indeed invariably happens) endless delays 
arose before I actually got off, so that it was determined that we 
should that day proceed no farther than Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim 
(situated some five or six miles to the south of the metropolis), 
whence we could make a fair start on the morrow. One of my 
friends, a nephew of my kind host the Nawwa4b, announced his 
intention of accompanying me thus far. This ceremony of setting 
the traveller on his way is called badraka, while the converse— 
that of going out to meet one arriving from a journey—is called 
istikbdl. Of these two, the former is more an act of friendship 
and less a formality than the latter. 

Persian servants having often been described as the most 
sotdid and rapacious of mankind, I feel that, as a mere act of 
justice, I must not omit to mention the disinterested and generous 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 173 


conduct exhibited by those of the Nawwab’s household. The 
system of “tips” being extremely prevalent in Persia, and con- 
ducted generally on a larger scale than in Europe, I had, of 
course, prepared a sum of money to distribute amongst the 
retainers of my host. Seizing a favourable opportunity, I entered 
the room where they were assembled, and offered the present 
to the major-domo, Muhammad Riza Khan. To my surprise, 
he refused it unhesitatingly, without so much as looking at it. 
When I remonstrated, thinking that he only needed a little per- 
suasion, he replied, “The master told us when you came here 
that you were to be treated in every way as one of the family: 
we should not expect or desire a present from one of the family; 
therefore we do not expect or desire it from you. You have been 
welcome, and we arte glad to have done what we could to make 
you comfortable, but we desire nothing from you unless it be 
kindly remembrance.” In this declaration he persisted, and the 
others spoke to the same effect. Finally, I was compelled to accept 
their refusal as definite, and left them with a sense of admiration 
at their immovable determination to observe to the full their 
master’s wishes. 

At length all was ready. The baggage-mules had started; 
the last cup of tea had been drunk, and the last ka/ydn smoked; 
and the horses stood waiting at the gate, while Haji Safar, armed 
with a most formidable whip, and arrayed in a pair of enormous 
top-boots, strutted about the courtyard looking eminently busi- 
ness-like, and evidently in the best of spirits. As I was just about 
to take my last farewells, I observed the servants engaged in 
making preparations of which the object was to me totally 
mysterious and inexplicable. A large metal tray was brought, 
on which were placed the following incongruous objects: —A 
mirror, a bowl of water with some narcissi floating in it, a plate 
of flour, and a dish of sweetmeats, of the kind called shakar-panir 
(‘“sugar-cheese”’). A copy of the Kur’4n was next produced, and 
I was instructed to kiss it first, and then to dip my hand in the 


174 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


water and the flour, to rub it over the face of the old servant who 
had brought the tray, pass under the Kur’4n, which was held 
aloft for that purpose, and mount my horse without once turning 
ot looking back. All these instructions I faithfully observed 
amidst general mirth, and as I mounted amidst many good wishes 
for my journey I heard the splash of the water as it was thrown 
after me. What the origin of this curious ceremony may be I do 
not know, neither did I see it practised on any other occasion. 
Our progress not being hampered by the presence of the bag- 
gage, we advanced rapidly, and before 4 p.m. rode through the 
gate of the city of refuge, Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim. I have already 
stated that the holy shrine for which this place is famous protects 
all outlaws who succeed in teaching its vicinity. In a word, the 
whole town is what is called “‘bast” (“sanctuary”). There are, 
however, different degrees of bast, the atea of protection being 
smaller and more circumscribed in proportion as the crime of 
the refugee is greater. Murderers, for instance, cannot go outside 
the courtyard of the mosque without running the risk of being 
atrested; debtors, on the other hand, are safe anywhere within 
the walls. It may be imagined that the populace of such a place 
is scatcely the most respectable, and of their churlishness I had 
convincing proof. I was naturally anxious .to get a glimpse of 
the mosque, the great golden dome of which forms so con- 
spicuous an object to the eyes of the traveller approaching Tehe- 
ran from the west; and accordingly, as soon as we had secured 
our horses in the caravansaray (for the rest of the caravan had 
not yet arrived), I suggested to my companion that we should 
direct our steps thither. Of course I had no intention of attempt- 
ing to enter it, which I knew would not be permitted; but I 
thought no objection would be made to my viewing it from the 
outside. However, we had hardly reached the entrance of the 
bazaar when we were stopped and turned back. Discouraged, 
but not despairing, we succeeded in making our way by a devious 
and unfrequented route to the very gate of the mosque. I had, 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 175 


however, hardly begun to admire it when forth from some hidden 
recess came two most ill-looking custodians, who approached 
us in a threatening manner, bidding us begone. 

My companion remonstrated with these churlish fellows, say- 
ing that as far as he was concerned he was a good Musulman, 
and had as much right in the mosque as they had. ““No good 
Musulman would bring a Firangi infidel to gaze upon the sacred 
building,” they replied; ““we regard you as no whit better than 
him. Hence! begone!”’ As there was nothing to be gained by 
stopping (and, indeed, a fair prospect of being roughly handled 
if we remained to argue the matter), we prudently withdrew. | 
was much mottified at this occurrence, not only on my own 
account, but also because the good-nature of my companion 
had exposed him likewise to insult. I feel bound to state, how- 
ever, that this was almost the only occasion on which I met with 
discoutrtesy of this sort during the whole time I spent in Persia. 

On returning to the caravansaray we found that Haji Safar 
and the muleteers had arrived, the former being accompanied 
_ by a relative who had come to see him so far on his journey, 
and at the same time to accomplish a visit to the shrine from 
the precincts of which we had just been so ignominiously ex- 
pelled. As it was now getting late, and as most of the gates of 
Teheran are closed soon after sunset, my friend bade me farewell, 
and cantered off homewards, leaving me with a sense of loneliness 
which I had not experienced for some time. The excitement of 
feeling that I was once mote on the road with my face fairly 
turned towards the glorious South soon, however, came to my 
relief, and indeed I had enough to occupy me in attempting to 
introduce some order into my utterly confused accounts. Before 
long Haji Safar, who had been busy ever since his arrival with 
culinary operations, brought in a supper which augured well for 
the comfort of the journey, so far as food was concerned. 

I had finished supper, and was ruminating over tea and 
tobacco, when he re-entered, accompanied by his relative, who 


176 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


solemnly placed his hand in mine and swore allegiance to me, 
not only on his behalf, but for the whole family, assuring me in 
a long and eloquent harangue that he (the speaker) would answer 
for Haji Safar’s loyalty and devotion, and asking me in return 
to treat him kindly and not “make his heart narrow.” Having 
received my assurances that I would do my best to make things 
agreeable, they retired, and I forthwith betook myself to rest 
in preparation for the early start which we proposed to make 
on the morrow. 

Next day we wete astit early, for there was no temptation 
to linger in a spot from the inhabitants of which I had met 
with nothing but incivility; and, moreover, I was anxious to 
form a better idea of the muleteers who were to be my com- 
panions for the next fortnight. However, I saw but little of 
them that day, as they lagged behind soon after starting, and 
passed me while I was having lunch. ‘The road, except for several 
large parties of travellers whom we met, presented few points 
of interest; nevertheless, a curious history is attached to it, which, 
as it forms a significant commentary on what one may call the 
“Board of Public Works” in Persia, I here reproduce?. 

On leaving Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim the road runs for a mile or 
so as straight as an arrow towards the south. A little before it 
reaches a tange of low hills which lie at right angles to its course 
it bifurcates. One division goes straight on and crosses the hills 
above-mentioned to the caravansaray of Kinar-i-gird; the other 
bends sharply to the west for about three-quarters of a mile, 
thus turning the edge of the hills, and then resumes its southward 
course. Of these two roads, the first is the good old direct 
caravan-route, described by Vambéry, which leads to Kum by 
way of Kinar-i-gird, Hawz-1-Sultan, and Pul-i-Dallak; the second 
is the new “improved” road made some years ago by order of 
the Aminu’s-Sultdn, the history of which is as follows:— 


1 It is given in Curzon’s Persia, vol. ii, pp. 2-6, but I have nevertheless 
decided to let it remain here, as I wrote it before the publication of that work. 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN ae 


When the rage for superseding the venerable and commodious 
catavansatay by the new-fangled and extortionate mihmdn-khdné 
was at its height, and when the road between Teheran and Kazvin 
had been adorned with a sufficient number of these evidences 
of civilisation, the attention of the Amiénu’s-Sultdn and other 
philanthropists was turned to the deplorable and unregenerate 
state of the great southern road. It was decided that, at least so 
far as Kum, its defects should be remedied forthwith, and that 
the catavansarays of Kinar-i-gird, Hawz-i-Sultan, and Pul-i- 
Dallak, which had for generations afforded shelter to the traveller, 
should be replaced by something more in accordance with 
modern Europeanised taste. Negotiations were accordingly 
opened by the Aménu’s-Sultdn with the owners of the catavan- 
satays in question, with a view to effecting a purchase of the land 
and “‘soodwill.”” Judge of the feelings of this enlightened and 
patriotic statesman when the owner of the caravansaray at 
Hawz-i-Sultén refused—yes, positively refused—to sell his 
heritage. Perhaps he was an old-fashioned individual, with a 
distaste for innovations; perhaps he merely thought that his 
caravansatay brought him in a better income than he was likely 
to get even by a judicious investment of the money now offered 
for it. Be this as it may, he simply declined the offer made to him 
by the Aminu’s-Sultdn, and said that he preferred to retain in 
his own possession the property he had inherited from his father. 

What was to be done? Clearly it was intolerable that the 
match of civilisation should be checked by this benighted old 
conservative. In the rough days of yore it might have been 
possible to behead or poison him, or at least to confiscate his 
ptoperty, but such an idea could not for a moment be seriously 
entertained by a humane and enlightened minister of the four- 
teenth century of the Ara; no, annoying and troublesome as it 
was, there was nothing for it but to leave the old road in statu quo, 
and make a new one. This was accordingly done at considerable 
expense, the new road being carried in a bold curve to the west, 


12 


178 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


and gatnished at suitable intervals with fancifully constructed 
mihmdn-khdnés, situated amidst little groves of trees, supplied 
with runnels of sweet, pute water from the hills, and furnished 
with tables, chairs, and beds in unstinted profusion. But alas 
for the obstinacy of the majority of men, and their deplorable 
disinclination to be turned aside from their ancient habits! The 
muleteers for the most part declined to make use of the new road, 
and continued to follow their accustomed course, alleging as 
their reason for so doing that it was a good many farsakbs shorter 
than the other, and that they preferred the caravansarays to the 
new mihmdn-khdnés, which wete not only in no wise better adapted 
to their requirements than their old halting-places, but were very 
much mote expensive. Briefly, they objected to “go farther and 
fare wotse.” 

There seemed to be every prospect of the new road being a 
complete failure, and of the benevolent intentions of the Aminu’s- 
Sutin being totally frustrated by this unlooked-for lack of ap- 
preciation on the part of the travelling public, when suddenly 
the mind of the perplexed philanthropist was illuminated by a 
brilliant idea. Though it would not be quite constitutional to 
forcibly overthrow the caravansarays on the old road, it was 
evidently within the rights of a paternal government to utilise 
the resources of nature as a means of compelling the refractory 
“sons of the road” to do what was best for them. Luckily, these 
means were not far to seek. Near the old road, between Hawz-i- 
Sultan and Pul-i-Dallak, ran a river, and this tiver was prevented 
from overflowing the low flat plain which it traversed, ere losing 
itself in the sands of the Dasht-i-Kavir, by dykes solidly con- 
structed and carefully kept in repair. If these were removed 
there was every reason to hope that the old road would be flooded 
and rendered impracticable. The experiment was tried, and 
succeeded perfectly. Not only the road, but an area of many 
square miles round about it, was completely and permanently 
submerged, and a fine lake—almost a sea—was added to the 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 179 


realms of the Shah. It is, indeed, useless for navigation, devoid 
of fish (so far as I could learn), and (being impregnated with salt) 
incapable of supporting vegetable life; but it is eminently 
picturesque, with its vast blue surface glittering in the sun, and 
throwing into bolder relief the white, salt-strewn expanse of the 
terrible desert beyond. It also constitutes a permanent monu- 
ment of the triumph of science over obstinacy and prejudice. 

The Aminu’s-Sultdn might now fairly consider that his triumph 
was complete: suddenly, however, a new difficulty arose. The 
management of the posts was in the hands of another minister 
called the Aminu’d-Dawla, and he, like the muleteers, considered 
the charges which it was proposed to make for the use of the new 
(now the only) road excessive. As, however, there appeared to 
be no course open to him but to submit to them (since the posts 
must be maintained, and the old road was irrecoverably sub- 
merged), the Aminu’s-Sultdn determined to withstand all demands 
for a reduction. But the Aminu’d-Dawla was also a minister of 
some ingenuity, and, having the example of his colleague fresh 
in his mind, he determined not to be outdone. He therefore 
made yet another road, which took a yet wider sweep towards 
the west, and, transferring the post-houses to that, bade defiance 
to his rival. | 

Thus it has come to pass that in place of the old straight road 
to Kum there is now a caravan-road longer by some fourteen 
miles, and a post-road longer by nearly twenty miles!. The last, 
indeed, on leaving Teheran, follows the Hamadan road for about 
a stage and a half, diverging from it some distance to the south- 
west of Ribat-Karim, the first post-house, and curving back 
towards the east by way of Pik and Kushk-i-Bahram to join the 
Aminu's-Sultan’s toad neat the mihmdn-khané of Shashgird, about 
ten farsakhs from Kum. 


1 Dr Wills (Land of the Lion and the Sun) gives the distance from Teheran 
to Kum by the old road as twenty-four farsakhs. The present post-road is 
reckoned and charged as twenty-eight farsakhs, but they appear to me to be 
very long ones. 

12-2 


180 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


On the second day after leaving Teheran (9th February), soon 
after quitting the mibmdn-khdné of Hasanabad, we entered the 
dismal region called by the Persians Malaku’l-Mawt Déré (the 
“Valley of the Angel of Death”). Around this spot cluster most 
thickly the weird tales of the desert, to which I have already 
alluded. Indeed its only rival in this sinister celebrity is the 
Hazdr déré (“Thousand valleys”’), which lies just to the south of 
Isfahan. Anxious to become further acquainted with the folk- 
lore of the country, I succeeded in engaging the muleteer in 
conversation on this topic. The substance of what I learned was 
as follows:— 

There ate several species of supernatural monsters which 
haunt the gloomy defiles of the Valley of the Angel of Death. 
Of these the ghi/s and ‘“ifrits are alike the commonest and the 
most malignant. The former usually endeavour to entice the 
traveller away from the caravan to his destruction by assuming 
the form or voice of a friend or relative. Crying out piteously 
for help, and entreating the unwary traveller to come to their 
assistance, they induce him to follow them to some lonely spot, 
where, suddenly assuming the hideous form proper to them, they 
rend him in pieces and devour him. 

Another monster is the wasnds, which appears in the form of 
an infirm and aged man. It is generally found sitting by the side 
of a tiver, and bewailing its inability to cross. When it sees the 
wayfarer approaching, it earnestly entreats him to carry it across 
the water to the other side. If he consents, it seats itself on his 
shoulders, and, when he reaches the middle of the river, winds 
its long supple legs round his throat till he falls insensible in the 
water and perishes. 

Besides these, there is the pa-/s (“Foot-licker”’), which only 
attacks those who are overtaken by sleep in the desert. It kills 
its victim, as its name implies, by licking the soles of his feet till 
it has drained away his life-blood. It was on one occasion cit- 
cumvented by two muleteers of Isfahan, who, being benighted 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 181 


in the desert, lay down feet to feet, covering their bodies with 
cloaks. Presently the pa-/s arrived, and began to walk round the 
sleepers to discover their feet, but on either side it found a head. 
At last it gave up the search in despair, exclaiming as it made off: 
“ Gashté-am hazar u st u si dere, 
Amma na-didé-am mard-i-du seré.” 
“T have wandered through a thousand and thirty and three valleys, 
But never yet saw a two-headed man!” 

Another superstition (not, however, connected with the desert), 
of which I heard at Teheran, may be mentioned in this con- 
nection. A form of cutsing used by women to each other is 
“* Al-at bi-zanad!” (“May the A/ strike thee!”). The belief con- 
cerning the A/ is that it attacks women who have recently been 
confined, and tries to tear out and devour their livers. To avert 
this calamity various precautions are taken; swords and other 
weapons ate placed under the woman’s pillow, and she is not 
allowed to sleep for several hours after the child is born, being 
watched over by her friends, and roused by cries of “ Ya Maryam!” 
(““O Mary!”) whenever she appears to be dozing off. It 1s 
worthy of note that the AZ, as well as its congeners, is supposed 
to have flaxen hair. 

The scenery through which we passed on leaving the Malaku’!- 
Mawt Déré was savage and sublime. All around were wild, 
rugged hills, which assumed the strangest and most fantastic 
shapes, and desert sparsely sown with camel-thorn. As we 
reached the highest point of the road, rain began to fall sharply, 
and it was so cold that I was glad to muffle myself up in ulster 
and rug. Now for the first time the great salt-lake made by the 
Aminu's-Sultdn came in view. It is of vast extent, and the mule- 
teers informed me that its greatest width was not less than six 
farsakhs (about twenty-two miles). Beyond it stretches the weird 
expanse of the Dasht-i-Kavir, which extends hence even to the 
eastern frontier of Persia—a boundless waste of sand, here and 
there glimmering white with incrustations of salt, and broken 


132i) FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


in places by chains of black savage-looking mountains. The 
desolate grandeur of this landscape defies description, and sur- 
passes anything which I have ever seen. 

The mibmdn-khdné of ‘Ali-Abad, which we reached an hour 
ot so before sunset, presents no features worthy of remark 
except this, that in the room allotted to me I found three books, 
which proved on examination to be a copy of the Kur’4n, a book 
of Arabic prayers, and a visitors’ book! It was evident that here, 
at least, the prototype was afforded by the Bible and prayer-book 
which ate usually to be found in every bedroom of an English 
hotel, and the visitors? book which lies on the hall-table. I 
examined this visitors’ book with some curiosity. It was filled 
with long rhapsodies on the Aminu’s-Sultén penned by various 
travellers, all complimentary, as I need hardly say. “How en- 
lightened and patriotic a minister! How kind of him to make 
this nice new road, and to provide it with these admirable guest- 
houses, which, indeed, might fairly be considered to rival, if 
not to excel, the best hotels of Firangistan!”’ I could not forbear 
smiling as I read these effusions, which were so at variance with 
the views expressed in the most forcible language by the mule- 
teers, who had continued at intervals throughout the day to 
inveigh against the new road, the wzhmdn-kbdnés, and their owner 
alike. 

The next day brought us to Kum, after a long, quick march 
of nearly ten hours. The muleteers were suddenly seized with one 
of those fits of energetic activity to which even the most lethargic 
Persians are occasionally subject, so that when, early in the after- 
noon, we reached the mihman-khané of Shashgird (or Manzariyyée— 
the “Place of Outlook”—as it is more pretentiously styled), 
and Haji Safar proposed to halt for the night, they insisted on 
pushing on to the holy city, which they declared they could reach 
before sundown. A lively altercation ensued, which concluded 
with a bet of five &rdns offered by Haji Safar, and taken by the 
muleteers, that we should not reach the town before sunset. The 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 183 


effect of this stimulus was magical. Never before or since did I 
see muleteers attain such a degree of speed. With eyes con- 
tinually directed towards the declining sun, they ran along at 
a steady trot, occasionally shouting to their animals, and de- 
claring that they would fare sumptuously that night off the 
delicacies of Kum with the money they would earn by their 
efforts. The road seemed interminable, even after the golden 
dome of the mosque of Hagrat-i-Ma‘sima (“Her Holiness the 
Immaculate”) rose up before us across the salt swamps, and as 
the sun sank lower and lower towards the horizon the efforts 
of the muleteers were redoubled, till, just as the rim of the 
luminary sank from sight behind the western hills, we crossed 
the long, graceful bridge which spans a river-bed almost dry 
except in spring, and, passing beneath the blue-tiled gate, rode 
into the holy city. 

I have already had occasion to allude to the Indo-European 
Telegraph, and to mention the great kindness which I met with 
from Major Wells (in whose hands the control thereof was placed), 
and from all other members of the staff with whom I came in 
contact. This kindness did not cease with my departure from 
Teheran. A message was sent down the line to all the telegraph 
stations (which are situated every three or four stages all the way 
from Teheran to Bushire) to inform the residents at these (most 
of whom are English) of my advent, and to ask them to extend 
to me their hospitality. Although I felt some hesitation at first 
in thus quartering myself without an invitation on strangers who 
might not wish to be troubled with a guest, I was assured that 
I need have no apprehensions on that score, and that I should be 
certain to meet with a hospitable welcome. This, indeed, proved 
to be the case to a degree beyond my expectations; at all the 
telegraph offices I was received with a cordial friendliness and 
geniality which made me at once feel at home, and I gladly 
take this opportunity of expressing the deep sense of gratitude 
which I feel for kindnesses the memory of which will always 


184 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


form one of my pleasantest recollections of the pleasant year I 
spent in Persia. 

The first of these telegraph stations is at Kum, and thither 
I at once made my way through the spice-laden twilight of the 
bazaars. On arriving, I was cordially welcomed by Mr Lyne and 
his wife, and was soon comfortably ensconced in an easy-chait 
before a bright fite, provided with those two great dispellers of 
weariness, tea and tobacco. My host, who had resided for a long 
while at Kum, entirely surrounded by Persians, was a fine Persian 
and Arabic scholar, and possessed a goodly collection of books, 
which he kindly permitted me to examine. They were for the 
most part formidable-looking treatises on Muhammadan theology 
and jurisprudence, and had evidently been well read; indeed, 
Mr Lyne’s fame as a “wmulld” is great, not only in Kum, but 
throughout Persia, and I heard his erudition warmly praised 
even at distant Kirman. 

Perhaps it was owing to this that I met with such courtesy 
and good nature from the people of Kum, of whom I had heard 
the worst possible accounts. My treatment at Shah ‘Abdu’l- 
‘Azim had not given me a favourable idea of the character of 
holy cities and sanctuaries, and this prejudice was supported in 
this particular case by the well-known stricture of some Persian 
satirist on the towns of Kum and Kashan: 

“ Sae-i-Kasht bib az akdbir-i-Kum, 

Ba-vujudi ki sag bih ax Kashist.” 
“A dog of Kashan is better than the nobles of Kum, 
Although a dog is better than a native of Kashan.” 

Whether the inhabitants of Kum have been grossly maligned, 
ot whether their respect for my host (for, so far as my experience 
goes, there is no country where knowledge commands such 
universal respect as in Persia) procured for me an unusual degree 
of courtesy, I know not; at any rate, when we went out next day 
to see the town, we were allowed, without the slightest opposition, 
to stand outside the gate of the mosque and look at it to our 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 185 


heart’s content; several people, indeed, came up to us and entered 
into friendly conversation. Further than this, I was allowed to 
inspect the manufactute of several of the chief products of the 
city, the most important of which is the beautiful blue pottery 
which is now so celebrated. This, indeed, is the great feature of 
Kum, which might almost be described as the “Blue City”; 
nowhere have I witnessed a greater profusion of blue domes and 
tiles. Many small articles ate made of this ware, such as salt- 
cellars, lamps, pitchers, pipe-bowls, beads, and button-like 
amulets of divers forms and sizes, which are much used for 
necklaces for children, and for affixing to the foreheads of horses, 
mules, and the like, as a protection against the evil eye. Of all 
of these I purchased a large selection, the total cost of which 
did not exceed a few shillings, for they are ridiculously cheap. 

Besides the mosque and the potteries, I paid a visit to a 
castot-oil mill worked by a camel, and ascended an old minaret, 
furnished with a double spiral staircase in a sad state of dilapida- 
tion. From this I obtained a fine view of the city and its surround- 
ings. It has five gates, and is surrounded by a wall, but this is 
now broken down in many places, and the whole of the southern 
quarter of the town is in a very ruined condition. Altogether, I 
enjoyed my short stay in Kum very much, and was as sorty to 
leave it as I was pleased to find how much better its inhabitants 
ate than they are generally represented to be. Their appearance 
is as pleasant as their manner, and I was greatly struck with the 
high average of good looks which they enjoy, many of the children 
especially being very pretty. Though the people are regarded as 
very fanatical, their faces certainly belie this opinion, for it seemed 
to me that the majority of them wore a singularly gentle and 
benign expression. 

I could not, however, protract my stay at Kum without 
subjecting my plans to considerable alteration; and accordingly, 
on the second day after my arrival (12th February) I again set 
out on my southward journey. As I was in no hurry to bid a 


186 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


final farewell to my kind host and hostess, the muleteers had been 
gone for more than half an hour before I finally quitted the 
telegtaph-office; but about this I did not greatly concern myself, 
making no doubt that we should overtake them before we had 
gone far. In this, however, I was mistaken; for when we halted 
for lunch, no sign of them had appeared. Supposing, however, 
that Haji Safar, who had travelled over the road before, knew the 
way, I thought little of the matter till the gathering shades of 
dusk recalled me from reveries on the future to thoughts of the 
ptesent, and I began to reflect that it was a very odd thing that 
a stage of only four farsakhs had taken so long a time to accom- 
plish, and that even now no signs of our destination were in view. 
Accordingly I pulled up, and proceeded to cross-examine Haji 
Safar, with the somewhat discouraging result that his ignorance 
of our whereabouts proved to be equal to my own. It now 
occurred to me that I had heard that the caravansaray of Pasangan 
was situated close under the hills to the west, while we were 
well out in the plain; and I therefore proposed that we should 
turn our course in that direction, especially as I fancied I could 
descry, in spite of the gathering gloom, a group of buildings 
under the hills. Haji Safar, on the other hand, was for proceeding, 
assuring me that he saw smoke in front, which no doubt marked 
the position of our halting-place. While we were engaged in 
this discussion, I discerned in the distance the figure of a man 
running towards us, shouting and gesticulating wildly. On its 
closer approach I recognised in it the muleteer Rahim. We 
accotdingly turned our horses towards him and presently met 
him; whereupon, so soon as he had in some measure recovered 
his breath, he proceeded to upbraid Haji Safar roundly. “A 
wonderful fellow art thou,” he exclaimed (on receiving some 
excuse about “the smoke ahead looking like the manzi/”’); “do 
you know where that smoke comes from? It comes from an 
encampment of those rascally Shah-sevans, who, had you fallen 
into their midst, would as like as not have robbed you of every 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 187 


single thing you have with you, including my animals. If you 
don’t know the road, keep with us who do; and if you thought 
you were going to discover a new way to Yezd across the desert, 
I tell you you can’t; only camels go across there; and if you had 
escaped the Shah-sevans (curses on the graves of their fathers!), 
it is as like as not that you would have just gone down bodily 
into the salt-swamps, and never have been seen or heard of 
again, as has happened to plenty of people who knew more 
about the desert than you.” So he tan on, while we both felt 
vety much ashamed of ourselves, till we finally reached Pasangan, 
and took up our quartets at the post-house, which looked more 
comfortable than the caravansaray. 

Next day was beautifully fine and warm, almost like a bright 
June day in England. Our way still lay just beneath the hills to 
the west, and the road continued quite flat, for we were still 
skirting the edge of the great salt-strewn Dasht-i-Kavir. About 
mid-day we halted before the caravansaray of Shurab for lunch: 
here there is some vertdute, and a little stream, but the water of 
this is, as the name of the place implies, brackish. Soon after 
leaving this we met two men with great blue turbans, carelessly 
and loosely wound. These Haji Safar at once identified as Yezdis. 
“You can always tell a Yezdi wherever you see him,” he ex- 
plained, “‘and, indeed, whenever you hear him. As you may like 
to hear their sweet speech, I will pass the time of day with 
them, and ask them whence they hail and whither they are 
bound.” So saying, he entered into a brief conversation with 
them, and for the first time I heard the broad, drawling, sing- 
song speech of Yezd, which once heard can never be mistaken. 

We reached the caravansaray of Sinsin quite early in the 
afternoon, the stage being six light farsakbs, and the road good 
and level. This caravansaray is one of those fine, spacious, 
solidly constructed buildings which can be referred, almost at 
a glance, to the time of the Safavi kings, and which the tradition 
of muleteers, recognising, as a tule, only two great periods in 


188 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


history—that of Feriduin, and that of Shah ‘Abbas the Great— 
unhesitatingly attributes to the latter. The building, although 
it appeared totally neglected, even the doots being torn away 
from their hinges, is magnificently constructed, and I wandered 
with delight through its long, vaulted, dimly-lit stables, its 
deserted staircase, and untenanted rooms. The roof, however, 
solidly built of brickwork, and measuring no less than ninety 
paces from corner to corner of the square, was the great attrac- 
tion, commanding as it did an extensive view of the flat plain 
around, the expanse of which was hardly broken by anything 
except the little group of houses which constitute the village, 
and a great caravan of camels from Yezd, kneeling down in 
rows to teceive their evening meal from the hands of their 
drivers. 

While I was on the roof I was joined by a muleteer called 
Khuda-bakhsh, whom I had not noticed at the beginning of 
the journey, but who had cast up within the last day or two 
as a recognised member of our little caravan, in that mysterious 
and unaccountable way peculiar to his class. He entered into 
conversation with me, anxiously enquired whether I was not an 
agent of my government sent out to examine the state of the 
country, and refused to credit my assurances to the contrary. He 
then asked me many questions about America (“ Yangt-dunyd”’— 
not, as might at first sight appear, a mere corruption of the term 
commonly applied by us to its inhabitants, but a genuine Turkish 
compound, meaning “the New World’’), and received my state- 
ment that its people were of the same race as myself, and had 
emigrated there from my own country, with manifest incredulity. 

Next day brought us to another considerable town—Kashan— 
after an uneventful march of about seven hours, broken by a halt 
for lunch at a village called Nasrabad, at which I was supplied 
with one of the excellent melons grown in the neighbourhood. 
On leaving this place we fell in with two Kirmanis—an old man 
and his son—who were travelling back from Hamadan, where 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 189 


they had gone with a load of shawls, which had been satisfactorily 
disposed of. They were intelligent and communicative, and 
supplied me with a good deal of information about the roads 
between Shiraz and Kirman, concerning which I was anxious for 
detailed knowledge. 

About 3.30 p.m. we reached Kashan, but did not enter the 
town, alighting at the telegraph-office, which is situated just 
outside the gate. Here I was kindly welcomed by Mr Aganor, 
an Armenian, who spoke English perfectly. Though it was not 
late, I did not go into the town that day, as we received a visit 
from the chief of the custom-house, Mirza Huseyn Khan, who 
was vety pleasant and amusing. Besides this, a man came with 
some manuscripts which he was anxious to sell, but there were 
none of any value. In the evening I had some conversation with 
my host about the Babis, whom he asserted to be very numerous 
at Yezd and Abadé. At the former place, he assured me, the new 
religion was making great progress even amongst the Zoro- 
astrians. 

Next morning we went for a walk in the town. Almost 
every town in Persia is celebrated for something, and Kashan 
is said to have three specialities: first, its brass-work; second, its 
scorpions (which, unlike the bugs of Miyané, are said never to 
attack strangers, but only the natives of the town); and third, 
the extreme timorousness of its inhabitants. Concerning the 
latter, it is currently asserted that there formerly existed a K4shan 
regiment, but that, in consideration of the cowardice of its men, 
and their obvious inefficiency, it was disbanded, and those com- 
posing it were told to return to their homes. On the following 
day a deputation of the men waited on the Shah, asserting that 
they were afraid of being attacked on the road, and begging for 
an escort. “‘We are a hundred poor fellows all alone,” they said; 
“send some horsemen with us to protect us!” 

The scorpions I did not see, as it was winter; and of the alleged 
cowardice of the inhabitants I had, of course, no means of 


190 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


judging; but with the brass-bazaar I was greatly impressed, 
though my ears were almost deafened by the noise. Besides 
brass-work, fine silk fabrics are manufactured in large quantity 
at K4sh4n, though not so extensively as at Yezd. The road to 
this latter city quits the Isfah4n and Shiraz route at this point, 
so that K4shan forms the junction of the two great southern 
toads which terminate respectively at Bandar-i-“Abbas and 
Bushite on the Persian Gulf. 

In the afternoon Mirza Huseyn Khan, the chief of the customs, 
came again. He had his little child of seventeen months old (to 
which he seemed devotedly attached) brought for me to look at, 
as it was suffering from eczema, and he wished for advice as to 
the treatment which should be adopted. Later in the evening, 
after the child had gone home, he returned with his secretary, 
Mirza ‘Abdu’ll4h, and stayed to supper. We had a most delightful 
evening, the Khan being one of the most admirable conver- 
sationalists I ever met. Some of his stories I will here set down, 
though it is impossible for me to convey an idea of the vividness 
of description, wealth of illustration, and inimitable mimicry, 
which, in his mouth, gave them so great a charm. 

“What sort of a supper are you going to give us, Aganor 
Sahib?” he began; ‘“‘Persian or Firangi? O, half one and half 
the other: very good, that is best; for this Sahib is evidently 
anxious to learn all he can about us Persians, so that he would 
have been disappointed if you hadn’t given him some of our 
foods; while at the same time, being fresh from Firangistan, he 
might perhaps not have been able to eat some of the things 
which we like. How do you like our Persian food so far?” 
he continued, turning to me; “‘for my part, I doubt if you have 
anything half so nice as our pildws and childws in your country. 
Then there is wdst-khiydr (curds and cucumbers); have you tasted 
that yet? No? Well, then, you have a pleasure to come; only 
after eating it you must not drink water to quench the slight 


a4 


thirst which it produces, or else you will suffer for it, like Manakji 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN Ig! 


Sahib, the chief of the Guebres, who is now tesiding at Teheran 
to look after the interests of his people. 

““How did he suffer for eating mdst-khiydr? Well, 1 will tell 
you. You must know, then, that when he was appointed by the 
Parsees at Bombay to come and live in Persia and take care of 
the Guebres, and try to influence the Shah in their favour, he 
knew nothing about Persia or the Persians; for, though of course 
the Parsees are really Persians by descent, they have now become 
more like Firangis. Well, Manakji Sahib set sail for Persia, and 
on board the vessel (being anxious to remedy this lack of know- 
ledge on his part) he made friends with a Persian merchant of 
Isfahan, who was teturning to his country. In the course of the 
voyage the ship touched at some port, the name of which I have 
forgotten, and, as it was to remain there all day, the Isfahani 
suggested to Manakji Sahib that they should go on shore and 
see the town, to which proposition the latter very readily agreed. 
Accordingly, they landed, and, since the town was situated at 
a considerable distance from the harbour, hired donkeys to 
convey them thither. Now the day was very hot, and as the sun 
got higher, Manakji Sahib found the heat unbearable; so, espying 
a village near at hand, he suggested to his companion that they 
should rest there under some old ruins, which stood a little apart, 
untilthesun had begun to decline and the heat was less oppressive. 
To this his companion agreed, and further suggested that he 
should go to the village and see if he could find something to eat, 
while Manakji rested amongst the ruins. So they arranged with 
the muleteer to halt for an hour or two, and the Isfahani went 
off to look for food. Presently he returned with a number of 
young cucumbers and a quantity of wdst (curds), with which he 
proceeded to concoct a bowl of mast-khiyar. 

“Now Manakji (like you) had never seen this compound, and 
(being a man of a suspicious disposition) he began to fancy that 
his companion wanted to poison him in this lonely spot, and 
take his money. So when the madst-khiydr was ready, he refused 


192 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


to partake of it, to the great surprise of his companion. “Why, 
just now you said you were so hungry,’ said the latter; “how 1s 
it that you now declare you have no appetite?’ ‘I found a piece 
of bread in my pocket,’ said Manakji, ‘and ate it while you were 
away in the village, and now my hunger is completely gone.’ 
The more his companion pressed him to eat, the more sus- 
picious he grew, and the more determined in his refusal. ‘Very 
well,’ said the Isfahani at last, “since you won’t join me, I must 
eat it by myself,’ and this he proceeded to do, consuming the 
mast-khiydr with great relish and evident enjoyment. Now when 
Manakji saw this, he was sorry that he had refused to partake of 
the food. ‘It is quite clear,’ said he to himself, ‘that it is not 
poisoned, or else my companion would not eat it; while at the 
same time, from the relish with which he does so, it is evident 
that, strange as the mixture looks, it must be very nice.’ At last, 
when his companion had eaten about half, he could stand it no 
longer. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘that my appetite has un- 
accountably come back at seeing you eat? If you will allow me, 
I think I will change my mind and join you after all.’ His com- 
panion was rather surprised at this sudden change, but at once 
handed over the remainder of the food to Manakji, who, after 
tasting it and finding it very palatable, devoured it all. 

““Now certain rules must be observed in eating some of our 
Persian foods, and in the case of mdst-khiydr these ate two in 
number. The first rule, as I have told you, is that you must not 
drink anything with it or after it; for, if you do, not only will 
your thirst be increased, but the food will swell up in your 
stomach and make you think you are going to die of suffocation. 
The second rule is that you must lie down and go to sleep 
directly you have eaten it. Now Manakji Sahib was ignorant of 
these rules, and so, when his companion lay down and went to 
sleep, he, feeling somewhat thirsty, took a draught of water, 
and then lay down to rest. But, so far from being able to rest, 
he found himself attacked by a strange feeling of oppression, 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 193 


and his thirst soon returned twofold. So he got up and took 
another drink of water, and then lay down again, but now his 
state was really pitiable: he could hardly breathe, his stomach 
swelled up in a most alarming manner, and he was tormented 
by thirst. Then his suspicions returned with redoubled force, 
and he thought to himself, ‘There is no doubt that my com- 
panion really has poisoned me, and has himself taken some anti- 
dote to prevent the poison from affecting him. Alas! alas! I shall 
certainly die in this horrible, lonely spot, and no one will know 
what has become of me!’ 

“While he was rolling about in agony, tormented by these 
alarming thoughts, he suddenly became aware of a strange- 
looking winged animal sitting on a wall close to him, and 
apparently gloating over his sufferings. It was nodding its head 
at him in a derisive manner, and, to his excited imagination, it 
seemed to be saying, as plain as words could be, ‘ Abwdl-i-shumda 
ché-tawr-ast? Abwdl-i-shumd ché-tawr-ast?’ (‘How ate your How 
ate your’). Now the animal was nothing more than one of those 
~ little owls which are so common in ruined places, but Manakji 
didn’t know this, never having seen an owl before, and thought 
it must certainly be the Angel of Death come to fetch his soul. 
So he lay there gazing at it in horror, till at last he could bear 
it no longer, and determined to wake his companion; ‘for,’ 
thought he, ‘even though he has poisoned me, he is after all 
a human being, and his companionship will at least enable me 
better to bear the presence of this horrible apparition.’ So he 
stretched out his foot, and gave his companion a gentle kick. 
Finding that did not rouse him, he repeated it with greater force, 
and his companion woke up. ‘Well,’ said he, “what is the matter?’ 
Manakji pointed to the bird, which still sat there on the wall, 
nodding its head, and apparently filled with diabolical enjoy- 
ment at the sufferer’s misery. ‘Do you see that?’ he enquired. 
“See itP Of course I see it,’ replied his companion, ‘What of 
it?’ Then some inkling of the nature of Manakji’s terrors and 


B 13 


194 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


suspicions came into his mind, and he determined to frighten 
him a little more, just to punish him. ‘Doesn’t it appear to you to 
be saying something?’ said Manakji; ‘I can almost fancy that 
I hear the very words it utters.’ ‘Saying something!’ answered 
the Isfahani, ‘Of course it is: but surely you know what it 1s, 
and what it is saying?’ “Indeed I do not,’ said Manakji, “for 
I have never before seen anything like it; and as to what it 1s 
saying, it appears to me to be enquiring after my health, which, 
for the test, is sufficiently bad.’ ‘So it would seem,’ said the 
other; ‘but do you really mean to tell me that you don’t know 
what it is? Well, I will tell you: it is the spirit of the accursed 
‘Omar, who usurped the Caliphate, and whose generals overran 
Persia. Since his death he has been permitted to assume this 
form, and in it to wander about the world. Now he has come to 
you, and is saying, “J, in my lifetime, took so much trouble to 
overthrow the worship of Fire, and do you dare come back to 
Persia to attempt its restoration?”’’ 

“On hearing this Manakji was mote frightened than ever; 
but at last his friend took pity on him, and picking up a stone 
threw it at the bird, which instantly flew away. ‘I was only 
joking,’ he said; ‘it is nothing but an owl.’ So Manakji’s fears 
wete dispelled, and he soon recovered from the mdst-kbiydr; but 
though he subsequently found out the proper way of eating it, 
I am not sure that he ever had the courage to try it again.” 

We laughed a good deal at this story, and I remarked that it 
was an extraordinary thing that Manakji Sahib should have been 
so frightened at an owl. 

“Well,” he said, “it is. But then in the desert, and in solitary, 
gloomy places, things will frighten you that you would laugh 
at in the city. I don’t believe in all these stories about gh#/s and 
‘ifrits which the chdrvddars tell; but at the same time I would 
rather listen to them here than out there in the Aavir. It is a 
terrible place that kavér! All sand and salt and solitude, and tracks 
not more than two feet wide on which you can walk with safety. 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 195 


Deviate from them only a hand’s breadth, and down you go into 
the salt-swamps, camel, man, baggage, and everything else, and. 
there is an end of you. Many a brave fellow has died thus. 

“‘Have I seen anything of the kavir? No, nor do I wish to do 
so; heating about it is quite sufficient for me. I was once lost 
in the salt-mountains near Semnan when a boy, having run away 
from my father, who had done something to offend me. I only 
remained amongst them one night, and, beyond the bitter brini- 
ness of the bright-looking streams at which I strove to quench 
my thirst, and the horror of the place and its loneliness, there 
was nothing half so bad as the kavir, yet I wouldn’t go through 
the experience again on any account. You have probably heard 
plenty of stories about the desert from your chdrvddars on the 
road; nevertheless, as you seem to like hearing them, I will tell 
you one which may be new to you.” 

We begged him to give us the story, and he proceeded as 
follows:—‘‘A poor man was once ttavelling along on foot and 
alone in the desert when he espied coming towards him a most 
terrible-looking dervish. You have very likely seen some of 
those wandering, wild-looking dervishes who go about all over 
the country armed with axes or clubs, and fear neither wild beast 
nor man, nor the most horrible solitudes. Well, this dervish 
was one of that class, only much more ferocious-looking and 
wild than any you ever saw; and he was moreover armed with 
an enormous and ponderous club, which he kept swinging to 
and fro in a manner little calculated to reassure our traveller. 
The latter, indeed, liked the appearance of the dervish so little 
that he determined to climb up a tree, which fortunately stood 
close by, and wait till the fellow had passed. 

“The dervish, however, instead of passing by, seated himself 
on the ground under the tree. Of course the poor traveller was 
horribly frightened, not knowing how long the dervish might 
choose to stop there, and fearing, moreover, that his place of 
retreat might have been observed. He therefore continued to 


13-2 


196 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


watch the detvish anxiously, and presently saw him pull out of 
his pocket five little clay figures, which he placed in a row in 
front of him. Having arranged them to his satisfaction, he ad- 
dressed the first of them, which he called ‘Omar, as follows:— 

“© ‘Omar! I have thee now, thou usurper of the Caliphate! 
Thou shalt forthwith answer to me for thy crimes, and receive 
the just punishment of thy wickedness. Yet will I deal fairly 
with thee, and give thee a chance of escape. It may be that there 
were mitigating circumstances in the case which should not be 
overlooked: inform me, therefore, if it be so, and I promise 
thee I will not be unmerciful.... What! thou answerest nothing 
at allP Then it is evident thou can’st think of no excuse for thy 
disgraceful conduct, and I will forthwith slay thee.’ Saying this, 
the dervish raised his mighty club over his head, and, bringing 
it down with a crash on the little image, flattened it level with 
the ground. 

“‘He next addressed himself to the second image thus: ‘O Abu 
Bekr! Thou also wert guilty in this matter, since thou didst first 
occupy the place which by right belonged to ‘Ali. Nevertheless 
thou art an old man, and it may be that thou wert but a tool in 
the hands of that ungodly ‘Omar, whom I have just now de- 
stroyed. If it be so, tell me, that I may deal mercifully with thee. 
... What! thou too art silent! Beware, or I will crush thee even 
as I crushed thine abettor in this offence....Thou still refusest 
to answer? Then thy blood be on thine own head!’ Another 
blow with the club, and the second figure had followed the first. 

“The dervish now turned to the third figure: ‘O Murtaza 
‘Ali,’ he exclaimed, ‘tell me, I pray thee, now that these wretches 
who deprived thee of thy rights have met with their deserts, 
how it was that thou, the chosen successor of the Prophet, didst 
allow thyself to be so set aside. After all, thou didst in a manner 
acquiesce in their usurpation, and I desire to know why thou 
didst so, and why thou didst not withstand them even to the 
death. Tell me this, therefore, I pray thee, that my difficulties 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 197 


may be solved....What! thou also art silent? Nay, but thou 
shalt speak, or I will deal with thee as with the others... . Still 
thou answerest nothing? Then perish!’ Down came the club 
a third time, while the poor man in the tree was almost beside 
himself with horror at this impiety. 

“This horror was further increased when the dervish, turning 
to the fourth clay figure, addressed it as follows:—‘O Muham- 
mad! O Prophet of God! Since thou didst enjoy Divine In- 
spiration, thou didst without doubt know what would occur 
after thy death. How, then, didst thou take no precautions to 
guard against it? Without doubt, in this, too, there is some 
hidden wisdom which I would fain understand, therefore I 
beseech thee to tell me of it... . Thou answerest not a word? Nay, 
but thou shalt answer, else even thy sacred mission shall in nowise 
protect thee from my just wrath....Still thou maintainest 
silence? Beware, for I am in earnest, and will not be trifled with. 
... Thou continuest to defy me? Then perish with the rest!’ 
Another heavy blow with the club, and the figure of the Prophet 
disappeared into the ground, while the poor man in the tree was 
half-paralysed with dread, and watched with fascinated horror 
to see what the dervish would do next. 

“Only one clay figure now remained, and to this the dervish 
addressed himself. ‘O Allah!’ he said, ‘Thou who hadst know- 
ledge of all the troubles which would befall the family of him 
whom Thou didst ordain to be the successor of Thy Prophet, tell 
me, I pray Thee, what divine mystery was concealed under that 
which baffles our weak comprehension!...Wilt Thou not hear 
my prayer?...Art Thou also silent?...Nay, Thou shalt answer 
me or——’ 

*““Wretch!’ suddenly exclaimed the man in the tree, his terror 
of the dervish for the moment mastered by his indignation, ‘Art 
thou not satisfied with having destroyed the Prophet of God, and 
‘Ali, his holy successor? Wilt thou also slay the Creator? Beware! 
Hold thy hand, or verily the heavens will fall and crush thee!’ 


198 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


“‘On hearing this voice, apparently from the clouds, the dervish 
was so tetrified that he uttered one loud cry, dropped his up- 
lifted club, and fell back dead. The man in the tree now descended, 
and cautiously approached the body of the dervish. Being finally 
assuted that he was really dead, he proceeded to remove his cloak, 
which he was surprised to find of enormous weight, so that he 
began to think there must be something concealed in the lining. 
This proved to be the case, for, as he cut it open, a hidden hoard 
of gold pieces poured forth on to the ground. These the poor 
traveller proceeded to pick up and transfer to his pockets. When 
he had completed this task, he raised his face to heaven and said, 
‘O Allah! Just now I saved Thy life by a timely interference, 
and for this Thou hast now rewarded me with this store of gold, 
for which I heartily thank Thee.’”’ 

“What a very foolish man the traveller must have been,” we 
rematked when the story was concluded; “‘he certainly met with 
better fortune than he deserved. Of course the dervish was 
nothing better than a madman.” 

“Yes,” answered the Khan, “and of the two a fool is the 
wotse, especially as a friend, a truth which is exemplified in the 
story of the Gardener, the Bear, and the Snake, which well 
illustrates the proverb that ‘A wise enemy is better than a 
foolish friend.’ If you do not know the story I will tell it you, 
for it is quite short. 

“Once upon a time there was a gardener, into whose garden 
a bear used often to come to eat the fruit. Now, seeing that the 
bear was very strong and formidable, the gardener deemed it 
better to be on good terms with it, thinking that it might prove 
a useful ally. So he encouraged it to come whenever it liked, and 
gave it as much fruit as it could eat, for which kindness the bear 
was very grateful. 

““Now, there was also a snake which lived in a hole in the 
garden wall. One day, when the snake was basking in the sun 
half asleep, the gardener saw it and struck at it with a spade which 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 199 


he had in his hand. The blow wounded the snake and caused it 
a great deal of pain, but did not kill it, and it succeeded in drag- 
ging itself back into its hole. From this time forth it was filled 
with a desire for revenge, and a determination to watch the 
gardener’s movements carefully, so that, if ever it saw him asleep, 
it might inflict on him a mortal wound. 

“Now, the gardener knew that the snake had escaped, and 
was well aware that he had made a deadly enemy of it, so he was 
afraid to go to sleep within its reach unprotected. He com- 
municated his apprehensions to his friend the bear, which, eager 
to give some proof of its gratitude, readily offered to watch over 
him while he slept. The gardener gladly accepted this offer, and 
lay down to sleep; while the snake, concealed in its hole, con- 
tinued its watch, hoping for an opportunity of gratifying its 
revenge. } 

““Now, the day was hot, and the flies were very troublesome, 
for they kept buzzing round the gardener’s face, and even settling 
upon it. This boldness on their part annoyed the bear very much, 
especially when he found that he could only disperse them for 
a moment by a wave of his paw, and that they returned im- 
mediately to the spot from which they had been driven. 

“At last the bear could stand it no longer, and determined 
to have done with the flies once and for all. Looking round he 
espied a large flat stone which lay near. “Ah, now, I have you,’ 
he thought, as he picked up the stone and waited for the flies to 
settle again on the gardenet’s face; ‘Ill teach you to molest my 
friend’s slumbers, you miserable creatures!’ Then, the flies 
having settled, thud! down came the stone with a mighty crash 
on—the gardenet’s head, which was crushed in like an egg-shell, 
while the flies flew merrily away to torment some new victim, 
and the snake crept back into its hole with great contentment, 
muttering to itself the proverb in question, ‘A wise enemy 1s 
better than a foolish friend.’” 

And now, just outside the walls surrounding the telegraph- 


200 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


office, tose a prolonged and dismal howl, followed by another 
and yet another; while from the city, like an answer, came back 
the barking of the dogs. “Are those jackals howling outside?” 
I asked, ‘‘and do they come so close to the town?” “Yes,” 
answered the Khan, “they always do so, and the dogs always 
answer them thus. Do you know why? Once upon a time the 
jackals used to live in the towns, just as the dogs do now, 
while the latter dwelt outside in the desert. Now, the dogs 
thought it would be much nicer to be in the town, where they 
would be sheltered from the inclemency of the weather, and 
would have plenty to eat instead of often having to go without 
food for a long time. So they sent one of their number to the 
jackals with the following message: ‘Some amongst us,’ they 
said, ‘are ill, and our physicians say that what they need is 
change of air, and that they ought, if possible, to spend three 
days in the town. Now, it is clearly impossible for us dogs and 
you jackals to be in one place at the same time, so we would ask 
you to change places with us for three days only, and to let us 
take up our quarters in the city, while you retire into the desert, 
the air of which will doubtless prove very beneficial to you also.’ 

“To this proposition the jackals agreed, and during the 
following night the exchange was effected. In the morning, 
when the people of the city woke up, they found a dog wherever 
there had been a jackal on the previous night. On the third 
night the jackals, being quite tired of the desert, came back to 
the gates of the town, filled with pleasant anticipations of tre- 
suming their luxurious city life. But the dogs, being very com- 
fortable in their new quarters, were in no hurry to quit them. So, 
after waiting some time, the jackals called out to the dogs, ‘ Na- 
khush-i-shumd khib shudé-é-é-é?’? (‘Are your sick ones well yet?’), 
ending up with a whine rising and falling in cadence, just such 
as you heard a minute ago, and (as Mirz4 ‘Abdu’ll4h, who is a 
native of Isfahan, will tell you) just such as you may hear any day 
in the mouth of an Isfahani or a Yezdi. But the dogs, who are 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 201 


Turks and speak Turkish, only answered ‘ Yokh! Yokh!’ (‘No! 
no!”) and so the poor jackals had to go back into the desert. And 
ever since then they come back at night and hail the dogs with 
the same question, as you heard them do just now; and the dogs 
always give the same teply, for they have no wish to go back to 
the desert. And that is why the jackals come and howl! round the 
town after dusk, and why the dogs always answer them.” 

At this point our host interrupted the conversation to tell us 
that supper was teady. “Supper!” exclaimed the Khan, who had 
already commenced another story, “Supper, indeed! Am I to 
have my stories cut short and spoiled by supper? No, I shall not 
go on with what I was saying, even though you do beg my 
pardon; but I will forgive you, provided always that you ask an 
‘English pardon’ and not a ‘Persian pardon.’” 

““What do you mean by a ‘Persian pardon’?” I asked; “‘please 
explain the expression.” 

“No, I shall keep my word and tell you no more stories to- 
night,” answered the Khan. “I have told you plenty already, 
and you will probably forget them all, and me too. Now you » 
will remember me much better as having refused to satisfy your 
curiosity on this one point, and whenever you hear the expression 
‘Pardum-i-Irdni’ (so he pronounced it) you will think of Mirza 
Huseyn Khan of Kashan.” 

After supper we had some songs accompanied on the sz-zar, 
all present, except myself, being something of musicians, and 
thus the evening passed pleasantly, till the guests announced 
that they must depart, and I was astonished to find that it was 
close on midnight, and high time to retire for the night. 

Next day (16th February) our road continued to skirt the plain 
for some twelve or fifteen miles, and then turned to the right 
into the mountains. We at first ascended along a river-bed, down 
which trickled a comparatively small quantity of water. I was 
surprised to see that a number of dams had been constructed to 
divert the water from its channel and make it flow over portions 


202 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


of the bank, whence it returned charged with mud. On asking 
the reason of this strange procedure, I was informed that it was 
done to prevent the water evaporating, as muddy water evaporates 
less readily than that which is clear! 

On ascending somewhat higher, we came to a place where 
there was a smooth, rather deep, oblong depression in the face 
of the rock. Inside this, as well as on the ground beneath, were 
heaps of small stones and pebbles; while in every cranny and 
chink of the cliff around and below this spot were planted little 
bits of stick decorated with rags of divers colours placed there 
by pious passers-by. As we came up to this place, Khuda- 
bakhsh, the muleteer, who was a few paces in front, sprang up 
towards the depression, shouting “‘ Yd ‘A/#!” and drew his hand 
down it, thus affording an indication of the manner in which the 
wonderful smoothness of its walls had been produced. He then 
informed us that the depression in question was the mark left 
by the hoof of ‘Ali’s steed, Duldul, and that there were only two 
ot three more such in the whole of Persia. Near the village of 
Gez, he added, there was the mark of ‘Ali’s hand in the rock. 
Haji Safar, on learning these facts, added his quota of pebbles 
to those already collected on the slope. 

Proceeding onwards through very fine scenery, we suddenly 
came upon a mighty wall of rock wherewith the channel of the 
stream was barred, and beyond this a vast sheet of water formed 
by the damming-up of the water-course. This splendid, half- 
natural reservoir, which serves to keep the city of Kashan well 
supplied with water during the hot, dry summer, was constructed, 
like so many other useful and beneficial public works, during 
the period of prosperity which Persia enjoyed under the Safavi 
kings, and is known as the Band-i-Kohrid. WWinding round the 
right side of this great lake, we presently began to see around 
us abundant signs of cultivation—plantations of trees, orchards, 
and fields laid out in curious steps for purposes of irrigation, and 
already green with sprouting corn. Soon we entered tortuous 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 203 


lanes, enclosed by stout walls of stone, and overshadowed by 
trees, and, after traversing these for some distance, we arrived 
at the village of Javinan, the strange-looking inhabitants of which 
came out to see us pass. The women for the most part wore 
green shawls and did not cover their faces. As we passed we 
could hear them conversing in the curious dialect, incompre- 
hensible to the ordinary Persian, of which I shall have to speak 
directly. 

About a mile farther on we came to the village of Kohrud, 
where, the chdépar-khdné (post-house) being occupied, we found 
quatters at the house of a Seyyid, who appeared to be one of 
the chief men of the village. I had already heard from General 
Houtum-Schindler, who possesses probably more knowledge 
about the geography, ethnology, and local dialects of Persia 
than any man living, of the curious dialect spoken in and around 
Kohrtd and Natanz, and, anxious to acquire further information 
about it, I mentioned the matter to my host, who at once volun- 
teered to bring in two or three of the people of the place to 
converse with me. Accordingly, as soon as I had had tea, a man 
and his son came in, and, bowing ceremoniously, took their seats 
by the door. 

I first asked them as to the distribution of their dialect, and 
the extent of the area over which it was spoken. They replied 
that it was spoken with slight variations in about a dozen or 
fifteen villages round about, extending on the one hand to the 
little town of Natanz, in the valley to the east, and on the other 
to the mountain-village of Kamsar. Of its age, history, and 
relations they knew nothing definite, merely characterising it as 
“ Furs-i-kadim” (“ Ancient Persian”). From what I subsequently 
learned, I infer that it forms one branch of a dialect or language 
spoken with greater or less variations over a large portion of 
Persia. With the dialect of Natanz it seems almost identical, so 
far as I can judge from a comparison of the specimen of 
that vernacular (consisting of some thitty words) given by 


204 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


Polak! with my own collection of Kohrid words. With the so-called 
Dari language of the Zoroastrians of Yezd and Kirman it has 
also close affinities?, and it would also seem to be near akin to 
the dialect spoken about Sivand, three stages north of Shiraz. 
The relations of these dialects to one another, and to the languages 
of ancient Persia, have not yet been fully worked out, though 
excellent monographs on several of them exist, and the quat- 
rains of the celebrated Baba Tahir, “the Lur,”’ have been pub- 
lished with translation and notes by M. Clément Huart?. It 
would be out of place here to discuss the philological bearings 
of this question, and I will merely observe that the wide distribu- 
tion of these kindred dialects, and the universal tradition of their 
age, alike point to something more than a merely local origin. 

I now for the first time realised the difficulty of obtaining 
precise information from uneducated people with regard to their 
language. In particular, it was most difficult to get them to give 
me the different parts of the verbs. I would ask, for example, 
‘““How would you say, “I am ill’?” They gave me a sentence 
which I wrote down. Then I asked, ‘““Now, what is ‘thou art 
ill’?” They repeated the same sentence. “That can’t be right,” 
I said; “‘they can’t both be the same.” “Yes, that is right,” they 
answered; “if we want to say ‘thou art ill’ we say just what we 
have told you.” “Well, but suppose you were ill yourself what 
would you say?” “Oh, then we should say so-and-so.” ‘This 
readiness in misapprehending one’s meaning and reversing what 


1 Persien, Das Land und seine Bewohner, von Dr Jakob Eduard Polak, 
Leipzig, 1865, vol. i, p. 265. 

2 On this dialect, see Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenlandischen Gesellschaft, 
vol. xxxv, pp. 327-414, Ueber die Mundart von Jexd, by Ferdinand Justi; and 
ibid. vol. xxxvi, pp. 54-88, Die Parsen in Persien, ihre Sprache und einige ibrer 
Gebrauche, by General A. Houtum-Schindler. See also Journal Asiatique, 1888, 
viii série, 11, where M. Clément Huart protests against the application of the 
term Dari to this dialect, which he includes along with Kurdish, Mazandard4ni, 
the patois of Semnan, etc., under the general appellation of ‘ Peh/evi Musulman,’ 
or ‘Modern Medic.’ Cf. p. 426, infra. 

3 Journal Asiatique, 1885, viii série, 6, pp. 502-545. 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 205 


one had said gave tise to one class of difficulties. Another class 
atose from the extreme simplicity of the people. For instance, 
after asking them the words for a number of common objects 
in their language, I asked, “And what do you call ‘city’?” 
“Kashan,” they replied. “‘Nonsense!” I said, “Kashan is the 
name of a particular city: what do you call cities in general?” 
“No,” they said, “it is quite right: in Persian you say ‘shahr 
mi-ravam, “1 am going to the city’: we say ‘Kdshdn mi-ravam’: 
it is all the same.”’ It was useless to argue, or to point out that 
there were many other cities in the world besides Kashan: to 
these simple-minded folk Kashan remained “the city” par 
excellence, and they could not see what one wanted with any 
other. Finally I had to give up the struggle in despair, and to 
this day I do not know whether the Kohrtdi dialect possesses 
a general term for “city” or not. 

I here append a list of the words and expressions which I 
took down during the short opportunity I had for studying the 
Kohrtd dialect, as I am not aware that anything has been pub- 
lished on that particular branch of what M. Huart calls “Pehlevi 
Musulman.” For the sake of comparison, I place in parallel 
columns the equivalents in the Natanz dialect given by Polak, 
and those of the so-called Dari of Yezd given by General Schind- 
ler and Justi. The transcription of these latter I have only altered 
so far as appeared necessary to convey the proper pronunciation 
to the English reader, e.g. in substituting the English y for the 
German /?. 


ENGLISH PERSIAN Kourupi NATANzi Dari oF YEZD 
Pidar oap Per, Pedar (S.) 
tape {Bebe feed Bab, Babi (J.), Bawg (S.) 


Mar, Md, Mer (S.) 
Memu (J.) 

1 In this table the second column contains the Persian words; the third 
their equivalents in the Kohrid dialect as taken down by myself; the fourth 
the Natanz equivalents given by Polak (/oc. cit.), which are marked (P.); and 
the fifth and last the equivalents in the Dari of Yezd, as given by Schindler 
(S.) and Justi (J.) respectively. 


Mother — Mddar Miné Mané (P.) 


206 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


ENGLISH PersIAN Konrtvit NATANzi 

Birddar Tye 
Brother { Dddar (old) Dadi 
S Pisar Purd Pura (P.) 

a {Par (old) 

Daughter Dukhtar Dita Duta (P.) 
Child Bacha Vacha he 
Woman Zan Yand Yend(P.) 

Khané ati? 2) 
House | Kedé Kiyd = Ke (P.) 
Door Dar Bar 
Wood Chub Chiga 

( Dirakht 
iLiec Bun (gen. in Band Bend (P.) 
| comp.) 
Water Ab O Au (P.) 
Fire Atash Altash 
Apple Szb So 8 
Garden (Ray = vine) Ray Rag 
Night Shab Shiiyé i 
Bird fi Kargé Kerge (P.) 
Dog Sag Ispa* a7 
Cat Gurba Matyi Mauljin (P.) 
Snow Barf Vafra +h 
To-day Imruz Tra 
Yesterday  Dtraz Izzé 
To-motrow Ferdd Hiya me 
Rerencl { Bi-raw Badshé Bashé 
8 | Bi-shaw 


Dari oF YEZD 
Berar (S.) 
{Daan (J.) 
Pur (J.) 
Porer (S.) 
Duteh (J.) 
aes Duter, Doter (S.) 
Vacha (S. and J.) 
Yen, Yentk (S.) 
{ees Kedah (S.) 
Khada (J.) 
Bar (S. and J.) 
Chi (S.) 
Dirakht (J. and S.) 


Viv(Berésine, quotedby J.) t 
{v4 (Yezd), O (Kirman) (S.) 
Tash (J. and S.) 
Sv (J.) 
[Ray = vine (S.)| 
Shé (J. and $.) 


Sabah \S.. 

Sevd (J.) 

Mali (S.) 

Vabr(Berésine, quotedby J.) 
Era (J.) 

Hege (S.) 

Ardah (S.) 

Ve-sho (S.) 


From this sample of the Kohrid dialect it will be seen that 
the following are some of its chief peculiarities, so far as genera- 
lisations can be drawn from so small a vocabulary:— 


(1) Preservation of archaic forms; e.g. pur, ispd, vdfrd (Zend, vafra), etc. 

(2) Change of B into V; e.g. vacha (Pets. bacha), valg (Pers. barg, leaf); 
but this change does not go so far as in some other dialects, B for instance 
being preserved in the prefix to the imperative, as in Bashé (Pers. bi-shaw, 
Yezdi, ve-sho). The change of Shab (Pers.) into Shaw or Shé (Yezdi) and 
Shiiyé (Kohridi); of S#b (Pers.) into Sv (Yezdf) and So (Kohriidi); and of Ab 


1 Berésine, Recherches sur les dialectes persanes, Kazan, 1853. 
2 Zend, ¢pan (see Darmesteter, Etudes Iraniennes, Paris, 1883, vol. i, p. 13). 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 207 
(Pers.) into 6) (Kohridi and Kirmanf) and vd (Yezdi), is doubtless to be 
accounted for in this way. 


(3) R standing before a consonant in a Persian word often stands after 
it in the Kohrdd dialect; e.g. vdfrd (Pers. barf); sometimes its place is taken by 
L; e.g. valg (Pers. barg). 


(4) Gis sometimes replaced by V; e.g. varg (Pers. gurg, wolf). 
(5) P is sometimes replaced by F; e.g. asf (Pers. asp, horse). 


(6) K4 sometimes drops out when it is followed by another consonant; 
e.2. bd-siit (Pets. sukhté, burnt) t. 


A few short sentences may be given in conclusion, without 
comment or comparison. I come—A#n. He is coming to-day— 
Tri dti. We ate coming—Hamd dtimd. You ate coming to-night 
—Ishd dtimd. They ate cominge—Atanda. Come, let us go into 
the country!—Bérya, bdashima sabrd! Bring some oil here— 
Raghan urgé birya. ‘Take this and give it him—Urg/ b#’7 de. Take 
the donkey, go and load it with earth, and come hetre—Khar urgf, 
bishé khdk. bar ki birya. ‘Throw down the blanket here and sit 
down—Pd bé galim ur bun, dimé hiichin. Sit hetce—Hdkum unchis. 
I sat—Hochistum. He sat—Hochish. He came here—Bamé andeé. 
I have not gone there—Nie¢ ndshtima. It was day—Rd# wd bi. 
My brother is ill—Dddin nd-sdz-d. 1s your brother better ?— 
Abwdl-i-didu bibtar-d? It is seven farsakhs from here to Kashan— 
Andé td Kdshdn haft farsangd. How far is it from here to there?— 
Andé td nigé chan farsang-d? What is your name?—Ismat ché- 
chigd? ‘What does he say?—Aji chi? When do you go? Ké 
ashima? Whose is this houseP-—N# kiyd dn-i-ki-d? Where do 
you belong to?—Tu ki gd bgi? Whence comest thour—Ird ki 
goddté? I come from Kamsat—Kamsar d’dtin. How many days 
is it since you left?—Chand rig-d bdshté’7? It is ten days since I 
left—Dah rig-d bdshtd’un. Vhis wood is burned—WNa chugd bdstit. 
The fire has gone out—Avash bd-mar. “‘Abdu’ll4h 1s dead— 
‘Abdu’ lah bd mardd. Take the pillow and come and put it under 





1 Cf. M. Huart’s article on the Quatrains of Baba Tahir, Journal Asiatique, 
1885, vili série, 6, pp. 508-9. In these quatrains s#¢ stands for sakhté; sdtan 
for sdkhtan, etc., almost uniformly. 


208 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


my head—Bdlish tig? biirya, zir-i-saram nu. Why art thou such an 
ass?—Chird nandagar khari? It has laid eggs—Tukhm ui dddd. 

At last I asked my informants (whose number had been greatly 
increased by additions from without) what they said in their 
language for pidar-sukbhté (“burnt-father,” the commonest term 
of abuse in Persian). ‘‘ Babd-bd-siit,’ they cried unanimously, 
and with much relish; “but we have many other bad names 
besides that, like babd bd-mar, ‘dead father,’ and ———”’; here 
they poured forth a torrent of Kohridi objurgations, which 
would probably have made me shudder if I had understood them. 
As it was, confusion being prevalent, and supper ready, Haji 
Safar turned them all out of the room. 

That night snow fell heavily, and I was surprised to see that 
the Kohrudis appeared to feel the cold (though they were well 
wrapped up) much more than any of us did. In the morning 
there was a layer of snow on the ground nearly six inches deep, 
and much mote than this in the hollows. Luckily there had 
been but little wind, else it might have gone hard with us. As 
it was, we had difficulty enough. We were delayed in starting 
by the purchase of a quantity of juzyghand (a kind of sweetmeat 
made with sugar and walnuts), in which, as it was a peculiar 
product of the place, Haji Safar advised me to invest. Then 
various people had to be rewarded for services rendered, amongst 
these my instructors of the previous night. The people were a 
grasping and discontented lot, and after I had given the man who 
had come to teach me the elements of Kohrudi a present for 
himself and his son, the latter came and declared that he had not 
got his share, and that his father denied my having given him 
anything. 

At last we got off, accompanied by another larger caravan 
which had arrived before us on the preceding evening. The 
path being completely concealed, one of the muleteers walked 
in front, sounding the depth of the snow with his staff. At 
first we got on at a fair pace, but as we advanced and continued 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 209 


to ascend it got worse and worse. Once or twice we strayed 
from the road, and had to retrace our steps. The last part of the 
climb which brought us to the summit of the pass was terrible 
work. The muleteers lost the road entirely, and, after blundering 
about for a while, decided to follow the course of the telegraph 
poles, so far as this was possible. In so doing, notwithstanding 
the sounding of the snow, we kept getting into drifts; many of 
the baggage-mules fell down and could not regain their feet till 
they had been unloaded; and every time this happened the whole 
caravan was brought to a standstill till the load had been re- 
placed, the muleteers uttering loud shouts of “Yd Alléh! Ya 
‘Ali!” and the women in the kajadvés (a sort of panniers) sending 
forth piteous cries whenever the animals which bore them 
stumbled or seemed about to fall. Altogether, it was a scene of 
the utmost confusion, though not lacking in animation; but the 
cold was too intense to allow me to take much interest in it. 
After we had surmounted the pass, things went somewhat 
better; but we had been so much delayed during the ascent that 
it was nearly 6 p.m., and getting dusk, before we reached the 
rather bleak-looking village of Soh. Here also there is a tele- 
eraph-office, whither I directed my steps. Mr M*‘Gowen, who 
was in charge of the office, was out when Iarrived, but I was 
kindly received by his wife, an Armenian lady, and his little boy. 
The latter appeared to me a very clever child: he spoke not only 
English, Persian, and Armenian with great fluency, but also the 
dialect of Soh, which is closely allied to, if not identical with, 
the Kohrid vernacular. His father soon came in, accompanied 
by two Armenian travellers, one of whom was Darcham Bey, 
who is well known over the greater part of Persia for the assiduity 
with which he searches out and buys up walnut-trees. I often 
heard discussions amongst the Persians as to what use these were 
put to, and why anyone found it worth while to give such large 
sums of money for them. The general belief was that they were 
cut into thin slices and subjected to some process which made 


B 4 


210 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


“pictures come out in the wood”—these pictures being, in the 
opinion of many, representations of events that had occurred 
under the tree which had supplied the wood. 

I had a good deal of conversation with Darcham Bey, though 
much less than I might have done had I been less overcome with 
somnolence induced by exposure to the cold. He had travelled 
over a great patt of Persia, especially Luristan, which he most 
earnestly counselled me to avoid. “The only people that I have 
seen worse than the Luts,” he said, “‘are the K4shka’is, for 
though the former will usually rob you if they can, and would 
not hesitate to murder you if you refused to give up your 
possessions to them, the latter, not content with this, will murder 
you even if you make no resistance, alleging that the world is 
well quit of one who is such a coward that he will not fight for 
his own.” 

Next day’s march was singularly dull and uneventful, as well 
as bitterly cold. I had expected a descent on this side of the pass 
corresponding to the rapid ascent from Kashan to Kohrud, but 
I was mistaken: it even seemed to me that the difference in 
altitude between the summit of the pass and Soh was at any tate 
not much greater than between the former,and Kohrud, while 
from Soh to our next halting-place, Murchékhar, the road was, 
to all intents and purposes, level. At the latter place we arrived 
about 5 p.m. It is an unattractive village of no great size. Finding 
the caravansaray in bad repair, I put up at the post-house, where 
I could find little to amuse me but two hungry-looking cats, 
which came and shared my supper, at first with some diffidence, 
but finally with complete assurance. They were ungrateful beasts, 
however, for they not only left me abruptly as soon as supper 
was over, but paid a predatory visit to my stores during the 
night, and ate a considerable portion of what was intended to 
serve me for breakfast on the morrow. 

The following day’s march was a good deal mote interesting. 
Soon after starting we saw three gazelles (dh#) grazing not more 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 211 


than 100 yards off the road. The wind being towards us from them, 
they allowed us to approach within a very short distance of 
them, so that, though I had no gun, I was almost tempted to take 
a shot at them with my revolver. 

A little farther on, at a point where the road, rising in a gentle 
incline, passed between two low hills before taking a bend 
towards the east and descending into the great plain in which 
lies the once magnificent city of Isfahan, we came to the ruins 
of a little village, amidst which stood a splendid, though some- 
what dismantled, caravansaray of the Safavi era. Concerning 
this, one of the muleteers told me a strange story, which, for 
the credit of the Kajar dynasty, I hope was a fiction. “‘ The 
Shah,” he said, “was once passing this spot when his courtiers 
called his attention to the architectural beauty and incomparable 
solidity of this building. ‘In the whole of Persia,’ they said, 
“no caravansatay equal to this is to be found, neither can anyone 
at the present day build the like of it.” ‘What!’ exclaimed the 
Shah, ‘are none of the caravansarays which I have caused to be 
built as fine? That shall be so no longer. Destroy this building 
which makes men think lightly of the edifices which I have 
reared.’” This command, if ever given, was carried out some- 
what tenderly, for the destruction is limited to the porches, 
mouldings, turrets, and other less essential portions of the 
structure. But, indeed, to destroy the buildings reared by the 
Safavi kings would be no easy task, and could hardly be accom- 
plished without gunpowder. 

A little way beyond this we reached another ruined village, 
where we halted for lunch. We were now in the Isfahan plain, 
and could even discern the position of the city by the thin pall 
of blue smoke which hung over it, and was thrown into relief 
by the dark mountains beyond. To our left (east) was visible the 
edge of the Dasht-i-Kavir, which we had not seen since entering 
the Kohrud Pass. Its flat, glittering expanse was broken here and 
there by low ranges of black mountains thrown up from the plain 


14-2 


eRe? FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


into sharp rocky ridges. To the right (west) were more hills, 
amongst which lies the village of Najaf-abad, one of the strong- 
holds of the Babis. 

Resuming our march after a short halt, we passed several 
flourishing villages on either side (amongst them, and some dis- 
tance to the east of the road, Gurgab, which is so celebrated for 
its melons), and, about 4 p.m., reached our halting-place, Gez. 
I think we might without much difficulty have pushed on to 
Isfahan, which was now clearly visible at a distance of about 
ten miles ahead of us, but the muleteers were natives of Gez, 
and naturally desired to avail themselves of the opportunity 
now afforded them for visiting their families. Personally, I 
should have preferred making an attempt to reach the city that 
night, for Gez is by no means an attractive spot, and I could find 
no better occupation than to watch a row of about a dozen camels 
kneeling down in the caravansaray to receive their evening meal, 
consisting of balls of dough (wawadlé), from the hands of their 
drivers. Later on, Khuda-bakhsh, the second muleteer, brought 
me a present (pishkesh) of a great bowl of mast (curds), and two 
chickens. 

Next day (2oth Februaty) we got off about 8.30. Khuda- 
bakhsh, having received his present (¢u‘dm), testified his gratitude 
by accompanying us as far as the outskirts of the village, when 
I bade him farewell and dismissed him; Rahim, assisted by a 
younger brother called Mahdi-Kuli, whom he had brought with 
him from the village, undertaking to convey us to Isfahan. I had, 
while at Teheran, received a most kindly-worded invitation from 
Dr Hoernle, of the English Church Mission, to take up my abode 
with him at the Mission-House during my stay in the city; and 
as that was situated in the Armenian quarter of Julfa, beyond the 
river Zayanda-Rud (Zindé-Rud of Hafiz), the muleteers wished 
to proceed thither direct without entering the city; alleging that 
the transit through the bazaars would be fraught with innumer- 
able delays. As, however, I was desirous of obtaining some idea 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 213 


of the general aspect of the city as soon as possible, I requested 
them to do exactly the contrary to what they proposed, viz. to 
convey me to my destination through as large a portion of the 
bazaars as could conveniently be traversed. This they finally 
consented to do. 

During a portion of our way to the city we enjoyed the 
company of a mukannt-bdshi, or professional maker of kandts— 
those subterranean aqueducts of which I have already spoken— 
with whom I conversed for a time on the subject of his pro- 
fession, since I was very desirous to learn how it was possible 
for men possessed of but few instruments, and those of the 
rudest kind, to sink their shafts with such precision. I cannot say, 
however, that my ideas on the ae wete rendered much 
clearer by his explanations. 

As we dtew nearer to the city, its numerous domes, minarets, 
and pigeon-towers (kaftar-khdné) began to be clearly discernible, 
and on all sides signs of cultivation increased. We passed through 
many poppy-fields, where numbers of labourers were engaged in 
weeding. The plants were, of course, quite small at this season, 
for they ate not ready to yield the opium till about a month after 
the Nawruz (z.e. about the end of April). When this season arrives 
the poppy-capsules are gashed or scored by means of an instru- 
ment composed of several sharp blades laid parallel. This is done 
early in the morning, and in the afternoon the juice, which has 
exuded and dried, is scraped off. The crude opium (“rydk-7- 
kha) thus obtained is subsequently kneaded up, purified, dried, 
and finally made into cylindrical rolls about $ inch or 4 inch in 
diameter. 

At length we entered the city by the gate called Derwazé-i- 
Charchu, and were soon threading our way through the bazaars, 
which struck me as very fine; for not only are they lofty and 
spacious, but the goods exposed for sale in the shops are for the 
most patt of excellent quality. The people are of a different type 
to the Teheranis; they are not as a rule very dark in complexion, 


214 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


and have strongly-marked features, marred not infrequently by 
a rather forbidding expression, though the average of good looks 
is certainly fairly high. The character which they bear amongst 
other Persians is not altogether enviable, avarice and niggardli- 

ness being accounted their chief characteristics. Thus it is com- 
monly said of anyone who is very careful of his expenditure that 
he is “‘as mean as the merchants of Isfahan, who put their cheese 
ina bottle, and rub their bread on the outside to give ita flavour.’”! 
Another illustration of this alleged stinginess is afforded by the 
story of an Isfahani merchant, who one day caught his apprentice 
eating his lunch of dry bread and gazing wistfully at the bottle 
containing the precious cheese; whereupon he proceeded to scold 
the unfortunate youth roundly for his greediness, asking him if 
he “‘couldn’t eat plain bread for one day?” Nor have the poets 
failed to display their ill-nature towards the poor Isfahanis, as 
the following lines testify: — 

“ Isfahan jannatist pur ni‘mat; 
Isfahdni dar-u namt-bdyad.” 
“Isfahan is a paradise full of luxuries; 
There ought (however) to be no Isfahanis in it.” 

At last we emerged from the bazaars into the fine spacious 
square called Meyddn-i-Shdb. On our tight hand as we entered 
it was the “A/ Kdpi (“Supreme Gate”’), which is the palace of the 
Zillu’s-Sultan, the Prince-Governor of Isfahan, of whom I have 
already spoken. In front of us, at the other end of the square, 
was the magnificent mosque called Masjid-i-Shah, surmounted 
by a mighty dome. Quitting the Meydan at the angle between 
these residences of ecclesiastical and temporal power, and travers- 
ing several tortuous streets, we entered the fine spacious avenue 
called Chahdr Bagh, which is wide, straight, well-paved, surrounded 
by noble buildings, planted with rows of lofty plane-trees, and 
supplied with several handsome fountains. This avenue must 


1 See Haggard and Le Strange’s Vagir of Lankurdn, translation of Act I, 
p. 48, and note on the same, pp. 91, 92. 


FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 215 
have been the pride of Isfahan in the good old days of the Safavis, 


and is still calculated to awaken a feeling of deep admiration in 
the mind of the traveller; but it has suffered considerably in later 
days, not only by the state of dilapidation into which many of 
the buildings situated on its course have been allowed to fall, 
but also by the loss of many noble plane-trees which were cut 
down by the Zillu’s-Sultan, and sent to Teheran to afford material 
for a palace which he was building there. 

On reaching the end of the Chahar Bagh we came in sight 
of the river Zayanda-Rud, which separates the city of Isfahan 
from the Christian suburb of Julfa. This river, though it serves 
only to convert into a swamp (the Gavkhané Marsh) a large area 
of the desert to the east, is at Isfahan as fine a stream as one could 
wish to see. It is spanned by three bridges, of which the lowest 
is called Pul-i-Hasandbdd, the middle one Pwu/-1-st-4-sih chashmé 
(“the bridge of thirty-three arches”’), and the upper one Pw/-i- 
Marin, all of them solidly and handsomely built. We crossed the 
rivet by the middle bridge, obtaining while doing so a good view 
of the wide but now half-empty channel, the pebbly sides of 
which were spread with fabrics of some kind, which had just been 
dyed, and were now drying in the sun. The effect produced by 
the variegated colours of these, seen at a little distance, was as 
though the banks of the river were covered with flower-beds. 
On the other side of the stream was another avenue closely 
resembling the Chahar Bagh, through which we had already 
passed, and running in the same line as this and the bridge, viz. 
towards the south. This, however, we did not follow, but turned 
sharply towards the right, and soon entered Julfa, which is not 
situated exactly opposite to Isfahan, but somewhat higher up the 
tiver. It is a large suburb, divided into a number of different 
quarters, communicating with one another by means of gates, 
and traversed by narrow, tortuous lanes planted with trees; in 
many cases a stream of water runs down the middle of the road 
dividing it intwo. After passing through a number of these lanes 


216 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 


we finally reached the Mission-House, where I was met and 
cordially welcomed by Dr Hoernle, who, though I had never seen 
him before, received me with a genial greeting which at once made 
me feel at home. Dr Bruce, who had kindly written to him about 
me, was still absent in Europe, so that all the work of the mission 
had now devolved on him, and this, in itself no small labour, 
was materially increased by the medical aid which was continually 
required of him; for Dr Hoernlewas the only qualified practitioner 
in Isfahan. Nevertheless, he found time in the afternoon to take 
me to call on most of the European merchants resident in Julfa, 
and the cordial welcome which I received from these was alone 
necessary to complete the favourable impression produced on me 
by Isfahan. 








CHAPTER VIII 


ISFAHAN 


“Safahin ma‘nt-yt-lafz-t-jihdn-ast; 
Jihan lafz-ast, u ma‘ni Isfahan-ast.” 
“Isfahan is the idea connoted by the word ‘world’; 
‘World’ is the word, and Isfahan is the meaning.” 


“¢ Jihdn-rad agar Isfahdni na-bid, 
Jihan-afarin-ra jihant na-bid.” 
Tf the world had no Isfahan, 
The World-Creator would have no world.” 


“ Man talaba shey", wa jadda, wajada.” 
“Whosoever seeketh a thing, and is strenuous in search, findeth it.”’ 
g, >] 


ULFA is, as I have said, situated at some distance from 
J Isfahan, and to walk from the Mission-House to the bazaars 
requires the best part of an hour. Hence it happened that, 
although I remained a fortnight in this place, I did not visit 
the city more than five or six times, and then chiefly for business 
in the bazaars or caravansarays. Four or five days after my 
attival, however, I accompanied Mr Aghanor, the British agent, 
into the town, and he kindly devoted several hours to showing 
me some of its more interesting features. Some of these I have 
already noticed, and it only remains to say a few words about 
the rest. 

The first public building which we visited was the Madrasa, 
ot College, built by Sultan Huseyn, in whose unfortunate reign 
(A.D. 1694-1722) the glory of the Safavi dynasty, and with it 
the glory of Isfahan, was brought to a disastrous end by the 
Afghan invasion. The Madrasa is built in the form of a hollow 
square, and contains about 120 rooms for students and teachers, 


218 ISFAHAN 


but of these two-thirds are untenanted. In the centre of the 
spacious courtyard is a large tank of water, pleasantly over- 
shadowed by plane-trees. The entrance to the college is through 
a cotridot, now used as a small bazaar, furnished on the side 
towards the toad with massive gates overlaid with exquisite 
_ brasswork, and adorned with Arabic inscriptions in the centre 
and Persian on the margin. The walls of the corridor are also 
ornamented with tiles bearing inscriptions. 

Leaving this, we proceeded to the Chahil sutin (“forty 
columns’’), so-called because of a double row of plane-trees 
standing by the side of a stream which traverses the garden. The 
trees in question ate only twenty in number, their reflections in 
the limpid water beneath constituting the other twenty “columns.” 
At the farther end of this garden is the beautiful little palace 
called Hasht Bihisht (“Eight Paradises”’). This had belonged to 
the Zillu’s-Sultan’s minister, Sdrimu’d-Dawla, whose life had 
recently been brought to an abrupt close by an obscure and 
rapidly fatal disease which defied the skill of the physicians. Such 
was the official report received from the capital, where his 
decease had occutred: popular rumour, however, ascribed his 
death to a cup of “Kajar coffee,” which had disagreed with the 
unfortunate nobleman. The walls of this palace are beautifully 
decorated, and adorned with six fine paintings representing 
scenes of battle or revelry. Concerning the latter, an old Seyyid, 
who was present, remarked with indignation that they were 
productions of a later age, since such scenes of dissipation never 
disgraced the court of the pious Safavis. Of the three battle 
scenes, one represented the rout of the Uzbegs by the Persian 
atmy; another, an engagement between the Persians and the 
Ottoman Turks under Selim I; and the third, one of the wars of 
Nadir Shah with the Indians. Besides these, and the two banquet 
scenes which had roused the indignation of the Seyyid, there 
was a picture representing Shah Tahmasp I receiving the fugitive 
emperor of Hindustan, Humayun. 


ISFAHAN 219 


Signs of the prevailing vandalism were apparent alike in the 
palace and the garden. In the former, the beautiful mural 
decorations (except the pictures) were being covered with 
hideous brick-red paint. In the latter, the plane-trees were 
falling beneath the axes of a party of woodcutters. A remon- 
strance addressed to the latter merely elicited the thoroughly 
Persian reply, “Déigar...bukm-ast” (“Well...it is ordered’’). 
They seemed sorry to be engaged in destroying the relics of the 
glorious past, but—‘‘d/gar”—what else could they do? They 
could no mote tefuse to carry out the Prince’s wishes than they 
could venture to criticise his decision. 

In another room in a building at the other end of the garden 
were two porttaits of a former governor of Isfahan, Minuchihr 
Khan, the Georgian eunuch, who died in a.p. 1847. He is 
described by Gobineau as a man “redouté et redoutable par ses 
talents et un peu aussi par sa cruauté,” and was so powerful that 
it is related that on one occasion the king, Muhammad Shah, 
summoned him to Teheran and said to him, “‘I have heard that 
you ate like a king at Isfahan,” to which the wily old minister 
promptly replied, ““Yes, your Majesty, that is true, and you must 
have such kings as your governots, in order that you may enjoy 
the title of ‘Shahinshaéh’ (‘King of kings’).” 

We passed through a portion of the palace and paid a visit 
to the Ruknw’l-Mulk, who was acting as deputy-governor during 
the absence of the Zillu’s-Sultan. He was a fine-looking Shirazi, 
and received us with great urbanity, bidding us be seated, and 
ordering tea and ka/ydns to be brought to us. At his side sat the 
Munapjim-bdshi, or Chief Astrologer. We presently asked if there 
was any news from the capital, whereupon he informed us, with- 
out any outward sign of the emotion which so startling an event 
must have produced in him, that a telegram had just arrived 
announcing that the Prince-Governor, the Zillu’s-Sultan, had 
“resigned” all his extensive governments in Southern Persia, 
retaining nothing but the city of Isfahan. From what I have 


220 ISFAHAN 


already said in a previous chapter, it will be sufficiently evident 
that the term “resignation” was a euphemism. 

I took several walks round the environs of Julfa, and one of 
the first places which I visited was the Armenian cemetery. Here, 
after some seatch, I found the grave of the Swiss watchmaker 
who was put to death by the Muhammadan clergy two centuries 
ago, for having, in self-defence, killed a Musulman. He was a 
great favourite with the king, who exerted himself to save his 
life, but the only condition on which this was possible was that 
he should consent to embrace Islam, which he refused to do. The 
heavy oblong stone which marks the spot where his body rests 
bears the simple inscription ““cy Gir RODOLFE.” Round about 
this are the graves of a number of European merchants, for the 
most patt Dutch or Swiss, who had been attracted to the then 
famous capital of the Safavis during the latter part of the seven- 
teenth and earlier part of the eighteenth century. Of the few 
English tombstones which I discovered, one bore the following 
curious inscription:— 

MEMENTO MORI 


HIC IACET INSIGNIS DOCTOR R. EDVARDVS PAGETT ANG. 
S. TRINITATIS COLLEGII APVD CANTABRIGIAM SOCIVS 
THEOLOGVS ET MATHEMATICVS LVSTRABAT ORBEM TER 
VI DIVINA COGNOSCERET ET MVNDANA 
SED MVNDYM VERE REPVTANS VT PVNCTVM 
EXTENDEBAT LINEAS VLTRA TEMPVS 
VT PVLCRVM EX ETERNITATE CIRCVLVM FORMARET 
TANDEM QVINQVAGENARIVS VLTIMO PVNCTO VITAM CLAVSIT 
IN PATRIAM PER TERRAM REDEVNTEM SISTEBAT MORS 
OBIIT ENIM SPAHANI DIE 21 IANV, A. 1702 SEC?™ sTYL. VET. 
ABI VIATOR ET AB INSIGNI DOCTORE 
DISCE IN TEMPORE ETERNITATEM. 


I also ascended two of the mountains which lie beyond the 
cemetety to the south of Julf4. One of these, situated just to 
the west of the Shiraz road, is called K#h-i-Saf7. On the northern 
face of this is a ruined building, whence I obtained a fine view 
of Isfahan, the size of which now became apparent, though the 


ISFAHAN 224 


miles of ruins which surround it show how much larger it was 
in former days. The whole of that portion of the plain in which 
the city lies was spread like a map at my feet. To the east was 
the ill-famed Hazd4r Deré, the fabled abode of ghi/s and “frits, 
a waste of conical hillocks; and near that side of it which bor- 
dered on the Shiraz road could be seen the single tree which 
marks the site of the “Farewell Fountain” (Chashmé-i-Khuda- 
bafiz), the spot to which the traveller journeying towards the | 
south is usually accompanied by his friends. Right across the 
plain from west to east meandered the Zayanda-Rid, spanned 
by its three bridges, and girt with gardens. On the farther side 
of this rose the domes and minarets of Isfahan; opposite the 
city, and on the south side of the river, lay the great Musulman 
cemetery, called Takbt-i-Fuldd; while on the same side of the 
river, but farther to the west, stretched the Christian suburb of 
Julfa. 

The other mountain which I ascended is called the Takht-- 
Rustam, and forms the extreme western limit of the range which 
terminates to the east in the Kuth-i-Sufi above described. This 
mountain is crowned by a great crest of overhanging rocks, 
along the base of which I had to creep before I could ascend 
to the summit, where stands a small building of brick in a very 
dilapidated condition. From this point I could see far away to 
the west, in the direction of Char Mahdall and the Bakhtiyari 
country, and a wild, forbidding landscape it was, hemmed in by 
black lowering mountains. Straight below me, on the farther 
side of the road leading to Char Mahdall, was a remarkable mass 
of rock, which, seen from certain points of view, looks like a 
gigantic lion. It is often called “the Sphinx” by Europeans. 
Beyond this were gardens and walled villages on either side of 
the river, and beyond these a background of mountains, in the 
bosom of which lies the village of Najaf-abad, one of the Babi 
strongholds. The exquisite clearness and purity of the atmosphere 
in Persia, enabling one as it does to see for an almost unlimited 


222 ISFAHAN 


distance, lends an indescribable charm to views such as the one 
which now lay before me, and I long gazed with admiration on 
the panorama to the westward. But when I glanced down into 
the dark valley to the south of the ridge on which I now stood, 
towatds which the mountain fell away so rapidly that it seemed 
as if one might cast a stone into it without effort, a feeling akin 
to terror at its savage loneliness and utter isolation overcame me, 
and I was glad to commence the descent with all speed, lest some 
uncontrollable impulse should prompt me to cast myself down 
into this gloomy ravine. | 

Another day I paid a visit to the celebrated, but somewhat 
disappointing, “shaking minarets” (windré-i-junbdn) situated to 
the west of Julfa, which were duly rocked to and fro for my 
entertainment. Beyond these is a curiously-shaped hill called 
the Aiash-gdb, on which, as its name implies, there is said to 
exist a ruined Fire-temple. To this, however, I had not time to 
extend my excursion. 

Thus passed the time I spent at the ancient capital, partly in 
walks and sight-seeing, partly in the genial society of Dr Hoernle 
and the other European residents. In the late afternoon we often 
played tennis, there being two very fairly good grounds in Julfa. 
Of Persian society I saw but little, and indeed for the first week 
I hardly had occasion to talk Persian at all except to the Mirza 
employed by the Mission—a man of considerable erudition, not 
devoid of a certain degree of scepticism in religious matters. I 
several times questioned him about the Babis, and begged him 
to put me in communication with them, or at least to obtain for 
me some of their books. Whether he could or would have done 
so I know not, for an occurrence which took place about a week 
after my arrival rendered me independent of such help, brought 
me into immediate contact with the proscribed sect which had 
hitherto eluded all my search, and gave an entirely new turn to 
the remainder of my sojourn in Persia. The event which thus 
unexpectedly enabled me to gratify to the full a curiosity which 


ISFAHAN 223 


difficulties and disappointments had but served to increase, was 
as follows. 

One afternoon, rather mote than a week after my arrival, 
and the day after the ascent of the Takht-i-Rustam above de- 
scribed, I was sitting lazily in the sitting-room which overlooked 
the courtyard, wondering when I should again start on my 
travels, and turning over in my mind the respective advantages 
of Shiraz and Yezd, when two da//d/s (brokers, or vendors of 
curiosities), armed with the usual collection of carpets, brasswork, 
trinkets, and old coins, made their appearance. Rather from lack 
of anything else to do than because I had any wish to invest in 
curiosities which were as certain to be dear as they were likely 
to be spurious, I stepped out into the porch to inspect the strange 
medley of objects which they proceeded to extract from their 
capacious bags and to display before me. None of them, how- 
ever, particularly took my fancy, and I accordingly refused to 
treat the prices which they named as serious statements, and 
offered only such sums as appeared to me obviously below their 
real value, hoping thereby to cause the da//d/s, of whose company 
I was now tired, to withdraw in diseust. The da//d/s did not fail 
to discern my object, and the elder one—an old man with 
henna-dyed beard—ventured a remonstrance. ‘‘Sahib,”’ he said, 
“‘we have come a long way to show you our goods, and you have 
taken up a great deal of our time. You will not be dealing fairly 
with us if you send us away without buying anything.” I was 
about to remind him that I had not asked him to come, and had 
only consented to examine his wares at his own request, and on 
the distinct understanding that by so doing I was not in any way 
binding myself to become a purchaser, when the younger da//d/ 
stepped up on to the platform where I was standing, put his mouth 
close to my ear, and whispered, “‘ You are afraid we shall cheat you. 
I am not a Musulmdn that I should desire to cheat you: 1 aM A BABt.” 

To this day I am at a loss to account for the motives which 
prompted this extraordinary frankness. Perhaps some rumour 


Prey a ISFAHAN 


had reached the man (for rumours in Persia get about in the 
most unaccountable manner) that I was anxious to make ac- 
quaintance with the sect to which he belonged; perhaps he 
imagined that all Christians were better disposed towards the 
Babis than towards the Muhammadans; perhaps the admission 
- was merely a random shot, prompted by the consideration that 
at least it was unlikely to expose him to any risk. Be this as it 
may, the effect produced on me by these words was magical. Here 
at last was the long desired opportunity for which I had waited 
and watched for four months. All my apathy was in a moment 
changed into the most eager interest, and my only fear now was 
that the da//d/s would take me at my word and go. 

“You ate a Babi!” I said, as soon as my astonishment allowed 
me to speak. “‘Why, I have been looking for Babis ever since I 
set foot in Persia. What need to talk about these wares, about 
which I care but littleP Get me your books if you can; that is 
what I want—your books, your books!” 

“Sahib,” he said, “I will do what is possible to gratify your 
wishes: indeed I can promise you at least one or two books 
which will tell you about our beliefs. But how is it that you 
are so desirous of these? Where did you hear about us, if, as 
you say, you never yet met with one of our religion?” 

“T heard about you,” I replied, “‘long before I came to Persia, 
or even thought that I should ever do so. A learned Frenchman 
who was living in Teheran soon after the Bab began to preach 
his doctrines, who witnessed some of the terrible persecutions 
to which his followers were exposed, and who was filled with 
wonder and admiration at their fortitude and disregard of death, 
wrote the history of all these things in his own language when 
he returned to Europe. This history I have read, and this wonder 
and admiration I share, so that I desire to know more of what you 
believe. Hitherto I have sought in vain, and met with nothing 
but disappointment. Now, please God, by means of your help 
I shall attain my object.” 


ISFAHAN 225 


“*So the news of the ‘Manifestation’ has reached Firangistan!”’ 
he exclaimed. “That is indeed well! Surely I will do all in my 
power to assist you in your search for knowledge of this matter. 
Nay, if you would desire,to converse with one of us who is 
learned and pious and has suffered much for the cause, I will 
attange that you shall meet him. He is our chief here, and once 
a fortnight he visits the house of each one of us who have 
believed, to assure himself that our households are maintained 
in a becoming manner, and to give us instruction and encourage- 
ment. I am but a poor ignorant da//d/, but he will tell you all 
that you desire to know.” Our whispered colloquy was now 
brought to an end, as the elder da//d/ began to manifest un- 
mistakable signs of impatience. Hastily selecting a few small 
atticles, I presented him with a sum of money sufficient to com- 
pensate him for his trouble and restore his good temper, and took 
leave of him and his comrade, entreating the latter by no means 
to fail in bringing me the books, which he promised to do, if 
possible, on the morrow. 

Next day, at about the same hour, my anxiety was brought 
to an end by the reappearance of the Babi da//d/, who signified, 
in answer to my look of enquiry, that he had brought the books. 
I immediately conducted him to my room, but for some time 
I had to restrain my impatience owing to the presence of Haji 
Safar, who seemed possessed by a desite to inspect the wares 
brought by my new friend, which was as unaccountable as it 
was exasperating. I was afraid to tell him to go, lest I should still 
further arouse that curiosity which I had learned to regard as the 
dominant characteristic of Persians in general and Persian servants 
in particular, so I had to wait patiently till he chose to retire. 

No sooner was he out of the room than the Babi produced 
the books, telling me that he expected his companion moment- 
atily, and that as the latter was a Musulman we should do well 
to make the best use of the time at our disposal, since his arrival 
would put an end to conversation on religious topics. 


B 15 


226 ISFAHAN 


The books in question were two in number: one was a manu- 
script copy of the [kdn (“Assurance”), which my companion 
declared to be an incontrovertible proof of the new faith, and 
by far the most important work to prepare me for a full compte- 
hension of the Babi doctrines; the other was a small tract, written, 
as | afterwards learned, by ‘Abbas Efendi (the son of Beha’u’ll4h, 
who is the present chief of the Babis and resides at Acte in Syria") 
at the request of ‘Ali Shevket Pasha in explanation of the tradi- 
tion “‘I was a Hidden Treasure, and I desired to be known; therefore 
I created creation that I might be known”; which tradition, stated to 
have been revealed to David, constitutes one of the corner-stones 
of Sufi mysticism. 

The purchase of these books was soon effected, for I was pte- 
pared to give a much higher price than was actually demanded. 
Specimens of calligraphy were next produced, some of which 
were the work of one of Beha’s sons, others of the renowned 
Mushkin-Kalam, who was one of the Babis exiled to Cyprus in 
A.D. 1868 by the Turkish Government’, and who was, as I 


1 He died since these words were written, on 16th May 1892, and was 
succeeded by one of his sons entitled Ghusn-i-A‘zam (“The Most Mighty 
Branch”). See Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for 1892, pp. 706-I0. 

2 I cannot here repeat all that I have written elsewhere on the history, 
especially the later history, of the Babis. Those who desire full information 
on the subject I must refer to my papers in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic 
Society (July and October 1889; April, July, and October 1892), and to my 
translations of the Tvaveller’s Narrative (Cambridge, 1891), and the New 
History (Cambridge, 1893). For the benefit of the general reader, I give the 
following brief epitome, which will suffice to render intelligible what is said 
in this book about the sect. The Bab, before his death (9th July 1850), had 
nominated as his successor a youth nineteen years of age named Mirza Yahya, 
and entitled Swbb-z-Exel (“The Dawn of Eternity”), who belonged to a 
noble family of Nur in Mazandaran. His succession was practically undis- 
puted; and till 1866 he was recognised by all the Babis, including his half- 
brother Mirza Huseyn ‘Ali, entitled Behd’n’/dh (“The Splendour of God’’), 
who was about thirteen years senior to him, as the Head of the Babi Church. 
In 1852, in consequence of the violent persecution of the Babis which 
followed the attempt on the Shah’s life, the headquarters of the sect were 
transferred to Baghdad. There the Babi chiefs remained till 1862 or 1863, 
when, at the request of the Persian Government, they were transferred by the 


ISFAHAN 227 


gathered, related in some way to my friend the da//d/. Mushkin- 
Kalam’s skill in calligraphy is a matter of notoriety amongst the 
Babis, and his writing is, indeed, very beautiful. Especially 
curious were some of his productions, in which the writing was 
so atranged as to take the form of a bird (Khatt-i-murghi). ‘The 
dalldl informed me that these would be eagerly sought after by 
Persians of all classes, were it not that they all bore, as the signa- 
ture of the penman, the following verse: 
“ Dar diyar-i-khatt shah-i-sahib-‘alam, 
Bandé-i-Bab-i-Behd, Mushkin-Kalam.”’ 


“Tn the domain of writing a king of note, 
The servant of Bab-i-Beha, Muashkin-Kalam.”’ 


As it was, the sale of these works of art was limited entirely to 
the Babi community. 

When the inspection of these treasures was completed, I asked 
the dal//d/ whether he knew where the two Seyyids who suffered 
martyrdom for the Babi faith about the year 1879 were buried. 

“Yes,” he replied, “I know the spot well, and will take you 
there if you wish it; but surely, Sahib, you who ate so eager to 
obtain our books, who desire to visit the graves of our martyrs, 


Turkish authorities to Constantinople (where they remained four months), 
and thence to Adrianople. While they were at Adrianople, Behd’w’Mah an- 
nounced himself to be “Him whom God shall manifest,’ that Great Deliverer 
and Fulfiller of the New Dispensation, whose advent the Bab had announced. 
Most of the Babis admitted his claim, and became Beha’is; some few adhered 
to Subp-i-Ezel, who vigorously contested it, and were henceforth known as 
Ezelis. Disputes and quarrels ensued, and finally, in the summer of 1868, 
the rivals were separated by the Turkish Government. Swbp-i-Eve/, with his 
family and a few of Behd’w’//dh’s followers, including Mushkin-Kalam, was sent 
to Famagusta, in Cyprus, where he still(1893) resides, being now a pensioner of 
the English Government. Behd’uv’//ah, with his family, a number of his 
followers, and six or seven of the followers of Subp-i-Exe/l, was sent to Acte, 
on the Syrian coast. This is still the headquarters of the Beha’is (who con- 
stitute the vast majority of Babis at the present day), but Behd’w’ dh himself, 
as stated in a previous note, died on 16th May 1892. After the occupation 
of Cyprus by the English, the surviving exiles there interned were given 
permission to depart if they so pleased. Of this permission Mushkin-Kalam 
availed himself. He left Cyprus in September 1886 for Acre where I met him 
in April 1890. 


15-2 


228 ISFAHAN 


must be prompted by some motive beyond mete curiosity. You 
have been to Acre, you have been honoured by beholding the 
Blessed Countenance, you ate yourself a Babi. Say, is it not so? 
Thete is no need to conceal anything from me.” 

“My friend,” I answered, “I am neither a Babi, nor have 
I been to Acte; yet I confess that I am actuated by something 
more than mere curiosity. I cannot but feel that a religion which 
has produced examples of such heroic courage and fortitude as 
yours, merits a cateful examination, since that must needs contain 
noble thoughts which can prompt to noble deeds. In visiting 
the gtaves of your martyrs I would fain pay a tribute of respect 
to those who gave up wealth, ease, and consideration, nay, even 
life itself, for the faith which they held dearer than all else.” 

At this point our conversation was interrupted by the entrance 
of the other da//d/ with a collection of pictures, articles of brass- 
work, and other curiosities, from which I proceeded to make 
a selection. It was proposed by myself, and readily agreed to by 
the dalldls, that there should be no bargaining: they would state 
the price which they had actually paid for each of the articles in 
question, and I, if it appeared to me reasonable, would give it, 
together with a small percentage for their profit. In conse- 
quence of this, the transaction was one of the shortest and 
pleasantest I had ever effected in the East, where bartering and 
hageling about prices is usually inevitable; and, so far as I could 
judge, I obtained the full value of my money. 

Just as they were leaving, the Babi found an opportunity 
of whispering in my ear, ““Do not forget next Saturday. I will 
make arrangements for someone to meet you at a given spot in 
the town; if I cannot find anyone else, I will come myself. Who- 
evet your conductor may be, you will recognise him by a sign, 
and will follow him: he will bring you safely to my house, and 
there you will meet our chief. I will see you again before then, 
and inform you of the spot determined on. May God be your 
keeper!” 


ISFAHAN 229 


Saturday came at last, and at an early hour my friend the da//d/ 
appeared. After a brief consultation we agreed on one of the 
principal caravansarays in the city as the best rendezvous. I was to 
be in waiting there shortly after mid-day, and either my friend 
or his associate would come to meet me. 

At the appointed time I was in readiness at the spot designated, 
and I had not waited long before the elder da//d/ appeared, caught 
my attention, signed to me to follow him, and plunged once 
more into a labyrinth of the bazaars. Once assured that I was 
following him, he hardly looked back, till, after half an hout’s 
rapid walking, we reached the house of the Babi, who welcomed 
me at the door, led me into the sitting-room, and, in the intervals 
of preparing tea for me and the distinguished guest he was still 
expecting, pointed out to me a number of his treasures. These 
included a photograph of the above-mentioned Muashkin-Kalam 
and his two sons, and another photograph of the graves of the 
“Martyrs of Isfahan,” which he assured me had been taken by 
a European resident who was greatly attached to the murdered 
men. 

After a short while there came a knock at the outer door; 
my host hastened out and immediately returned, ushering in 
the Babi missionary, to whom he presented me. He was a grave, 
earnest-looking man of about forty-five years of age, as I should 
guess; and as he sat opposite to me sipping his tea, I had plenty 
of time to observe his countenance attentively, and to note the 
combination of decision, energy, and thoughtfulness which it 
expressed. His manners were pleasing, and his speech, when he 
spoke, persuasive. Altogether he was a man whom one would 
not readily forget, even after a single interview, and on whose 
memory one dwells with pleasure. 

The elder da//d/, who had absented himself for a short time, 
soon returned, and with him another Babi, a tile-maker by trade. 
The presence of the former put some restraint on the conversation, 
so that I was unable to ask many questions. I learned, however, 


230 ISFAHAN 


that he whom I now beheld was one of the chief missionaries 
of the new faith, for which he had suffered stripes, imprisonment, 
and exile mote than once. I begged him to tell me what it was 
that had made him ready to suffer these things so readily. “You 
must go to Acre,” he replied, “to understand that.” 

““Have you been to Acre?” I said, “‘and if so, what did you 
see there?” 

‘““T have been there often,” he answered, “‘and what I saw was 
a man perfect in humanity.” 

More than this he would not say. “You are leaving Isfahan, 
as I understand, in a few days,” he remarked, “‘and opportunity 
is lacking to explain to you what you desite to know. I will, 
_ however, write to the ‘Friends’ at Shiraz, and Abddé also if you 
wish, requesting them to expect your arrival, and to afford you 
all facilities for discussing these matters. Should you intend to 
visit other towns at a subsequent date, they will furnish you with 
all necessary recommendations and instructions. The ‘Friends’ 
are evetywhere, and though hitherto you have sought for them 
without success, and only at last chanced on them by what 
would seem a mere accident, now that you have the clue you will 
meet them wherever you go. Write down these two names (here 
he gave me the names and addresses of two of his co-religionists 
at Abadé and Shiraz respectively), and when you arrive enquire 
for them. Before your arrival they will be duly informed 
of your coming, and of your reason for desiring to converse 
with them. Now farewell, and may God direct you unto the 
truth.” 

“Aka,” said the dalld/, “the Sahib desires to visit the graves 
of the ‘King of Martyrs,’ and the ‘Beloved of Martyrs,’ and I 
have promised to take him there. Will you not also accompany 
us, that we may beguile the way with profitable conversation?” 

“Tt is well that he should visit these graves,” answered the 
other, “and we thank him for the good-will towards us which 
his desire to do so implies. Nevertheless, I will not come, for 


ISFAHAN 231 


I am pethaps too well known of men, and it is not wise to incur 
needless risk. Farewell!” 

Soon after the departure of the chief, I also, finding it later 
than I had supposed, rose to go. The tile-maker volunteered to 
guide me back to the caravansaray. There was but little oppor- 
tunity for conversation on the way thither, nor would it have been 
safe to talk of those matters which occupied our minds in the 
open street. ““You see, Sahib,” whispered my companion, “‘ what 
our condition is. We are like hunted animals or beasts of prey, 
which men slay without compunction; and this because we have 
believed in God and his Manifestation.” 

On attiving at the caravansaray whence I had started, I bade 
farewell to my guide, and betook myself to the office of Messrs 
Ziegler’s agents to conclude the arrangements for my journey 
to Shiraz. A muleteer was found, a native of the village of 
Khuraskan, called ‘Abdu’r-Rahim, who agreed to furnish me 
with three animals at the rate of three témdns (rather less than £1) 
a head, to convey me to Shiraz in fourteen marches, and to halt 
for one day at any place on the road which I might choose. Half 
the money was at once paid down, and, the bargain being 
satisfactorily concluded, I walked home to Julf4 with Messrs 
Ziegler’s agent, who had kindly assisted me in making these 
attangements. 

Next day, early in the afternoon, my friend the d//d/ came to 
conduct me to the tombs of the martyrs. After a walk of more 
than an hour in a blazing sun, we arrived at the vast cemetery 
called Takht-i-Fuldd (“the Throne of Steel”). Threading our 
way through the wilderness of tombstones, my companion 
presently espied, and summoned to us, a poor gtave-digger, also 
belonging to the persecuted sect, who accompanied us to a spot 
marked by two small mounds of stones and pebbles. Here we 
halted, and the da//d/, turning to me, said, “‘ These ate the graves 
of the martyrs. No stone marks the spot, because the Musul- 
mans destroyed those which we placed here, and, indeed, it is 


23D ISFAHAN 


perhaps as well that they have almost forgotten the resting-places 
of those they slew, lest, in their fanaticism, they should yet 
further desecrate them. And now we will sit down for a while 
in this place, and I will tell you how the death of these men was 
brought about. But first it is well that our friend should read 
_ the prayer appointed for the visitation of this holy spot.” 

The other thereupon produced a little book from under his 
cloak, and proceeded to read a prayer, partly in Arabic, partly 
in Persian. When this was concluded, we seated ourselves by 
the graves, and the da//d/ commenced his narrative. 

“This,” said he, pointing to the mound nearest to us, “is the 
tomb of Haji Mirza Hasan, whom we call Sw/tanu’ sh-Shuhadd, “the 
King of Martyrs,’ and that yonder is the resting-place of his elder 
brother, Haji Mirza Huseyn, called Mapbiibu’sh-Shuhadd, ‘the 
Beloved of Martyrs.’ They were Seyyids by birth, and merchants 
by profession; yet neither their descent from the Prophet, nor 
their rare integrity in business transactions and liberality to the 
poor, which were universally acknowledged, served to protect 
them from the wicked schemes of their enemies. Amongst their 
debtors was a certain Sheykh Bakir, a wu//d of this city, who owed 
them a sum of about ten thousand timdns (£3000). Now Sheykh 
Bakir knew that they were of the number of the ‘Friends,’ and 
he thought that he might make use of this knowledge to compass 
their death, and so escape the payment of the debt. So he went 
to the Imdm-Jum‘a of Isfahan, who was the chief of the clergy, 
and said to him, “These men are Babis, and as such they are, 
accotding to the law of Islam, worthy of death, since they do ~ 
not believe that Muhammad, the Apostle of God, is the last of 
the Prophets, but hold that Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad of Shirdz 
received a new revelation whereby the Kur’4n is abrogated. 
To my knowledge, also, they are very wealthy, and if they be 
slain for their apostasy from Islam, their wealth will be ours.’ 
The Imdm-Jum‘a was easily persuaded to become a party to this 
design, and these two wicked men accordingly went to the 


ISFAHAN 233 


Zillu’s-Sultan, the Prince-Governor, and laid the matter before 
him. He was by no means averse to a scheme which seemed 
fraught with profit to himself, but nevertheless hesitated to 
decree the death of those whose descent from the Prophet, 
apart from their blameless lives, appeared to entitle them to 
respect and consideration. At length he answered thus: “I cannot 
myself command their execution, since they have committed 
no ctime against the state. If, however, you, in the name of 
the sacred law of Islam, condemn them to death, I shall, of course, 
not interfere with the execution of the sentence.’ 

“Sheykh Bakir and the Imdm-Jum‘a therefore withdrew, and 
summoned seventeen other mul/ds; and these, after a brief 
deliberation, unanimously signed the death-warrant of the two 
Seyyids, who were forthwith arrested and cast into prison. When 
this transpired there was great consternation and distress amongst 
all classes, including the European residents, to whom the up- 
rightness and virtue of the doomed men were well known. 
Application for the remission of the sentence was made by 
telegraph to Teheran, and the request was supported by one of 
the European Ambassadors resident there. The Shah consented 
to grant a reprieve, and telegraphed to the Zillu’s-Sultan to that 
effect, but too late to stop the execution of the sentence. The two 
Seyyids, having refused to purchase life by apostasy*, had their 
throats cut; cords were then attached to their feet, and their 
bodies were dragged through the streets and bazaars to the gate 


1 The account actually given me by the da//d/ on this occasion begins here. 
What precedes was told me subsequently at Shiraz by another of the Babi mis- 
sionaries, who added other particulars, amongst which was a statement, which 
one cannot but hope may be untrue, that the telegram containing the reprieve 
actually reached the Zillu’s-Sultan before the execution had taken place; that 
he divined its contents, laid it aside unopened till news reached him that the 
Seyyids had been put to death, and then sent an answer to Teheran expressing 
regret that the sentence had been carried out before the remand came. I have 
thought it better to put the whole story in outline in the mouth of the da//d/, 
reserving a few incidents which I subsequently learned for narration in their 
proper place. 


234 ISFAHAN 


of the city, where they were cast under an old mud wall, which 
was then overthrown upon them. 

“When it was night an old servant of the martyred men, who 
had marked the spot where their bodies were cast, came thither, 
and extricated them from the débris of the ruined wall, the fall 
of which had scarcely injured them. He tenderly washed away 
the blood and dust which covered them with water from the 
Zayanda-Rud, and then bore them to the cemetery, where he 
buried them in two freshly-made graves. 

“In the morning the soldiers and servants of the Prince dis- 
covered the removal of the bodies. Suspicion fell on the faithful 
old servant, but he refused to reveal anything under the cross- 
examination to which he was subjected, so that eventually they 
were compelled to let him go, and the bodies of the martyrs were 
left in peace. But we cannot mark the spot where they are buried 
with a stone, for when one was put up, the Musulmans, whose 
malignity towards us is unbounded, and who know very well 
that we pay visits to these graves in secret, overthrew it. Our 
friend here” (pointing to his companion) “was brought to 
believe by means of these martyrs. Was it not so?” 

“Yes,” answered the other, ““some time after their death I 
saw in a dream vast crowds of people visiting a certain spot in 
the cemetery. I asked in my dream, ‘Whose are these graves?’ 
An answer came, ‘Those of the “King of Martyrs” and the 
“Beloved of Martyts.”’ Then I believed in that faith for which 
they had witnessed with their blood, seeing that it was accepted 
of God; and since then I visit them continually, and strive to 
keep them neat and orderly, and preserve the spot from oblivion 
by renewing the border of bricks and the heap of stones which is 
all that marks it.” 

“He is a good man,” rejoined the da//d/, “and formerly those 
of the ‘Friends’ who came to visit the graves used to rest for 
a while in the little house which he has near here, and partake 
of tea and kalydns. The Musulmans, however, found this out, 


ISFAHAN 235 


made a taid on his house, abused and threatened him, and, before 
they departed, destroyed his tea-things and pipes. He is very 
poor,” he added in a whisper, “give him a &rdw for his trouble; 
it is an action which has merit.” 

I accordingly gave a small present to our guide, who departed 
with expressions of gratitude. After sitting a little while longer 
we too rose to go, and, taking a last look at the graves, from each 
of which I carried away a small stone as a memento, we once 
more turned our faces towards the city. On our way towards 
the gate of the cemetery we again passed the poor grave-digger 
with his little boy, and he again greeted me with expressions of 
thankfulness and good wishes for my journey. 

I was much touched by the kindliness of these poor people, 
and communicated something of my thoughts to my companion. 

“Yes,” he answered, ““we are much neater to you in sympathy 
than the Muhammadans. To them you ate unclean and accursed: 
if they associate with you it is only by overcoming their religious 
prejudices, But we are taught to regard all good men as clean 
and pure, whatever their religion. With you Christians especially 
we have sympathy. Has it not struck you how similar were the 
life and death of our Founder (whom, indeed, we believe to 
have been Christ Himself returned to earth) to those of the 
Founder of your faith? Both were wise, even in their childhood, 
beyond the comprehension of those around them; both were pure 
and blameless in their lives; and both at last were done to death 
by a fanatical priesthood and a government alarmed at the love 
and devotion which they inspired in their disciples!. But besides 
this the ordinances enjoined upon us are in many respects like 
those which you follow. We are recommended to take to our- 


1 The Babis for the most part, unlike the Muhammadans, believe that 
Christ was actually crucified by the Jews, and not, as the latter assert, taken 
up into heaven miraculously, while another, resembling Him in appearance, 
was crucified in His stead. But few of the Muhammadans are conversant with 
the Gospels, while the reverse holds good of the Babis, many of whom take 
pleasure in reading the accounts of the life and death of Jesus Christ. 


236 ISFAHAN 


selves only one wife, to treat our families with tenderness and 
gentleness, and, while paying the utmost attention to personal 
cleanliness, to disregard the ceremonials of purification and the 
minute details concerning legal impurity, of which the Musul- 
mans make so much. Further, we believe that women ought 
to be allowed to mix more freely with men, and should not be 
compelled to wear the veil. At present, fear of the Muham- 
madans compels us to act as they do in these matters, and the 
same consideration affects many other ordinances which are not 
obligatory on us when their observance would involve danger. 
Thus our fast is not in Ramazan, but during the nineteen days 
preceding the Nawrizx (“New Yeatr’s Day’!); we are now in this 
period, but I am not observing the fast, because to do so would 
expose me to danger, and we are forbidden to incur needless 
risk. Our salutation, too, is different from that of the Muham- 
madans; when we meet, we greet one another with the words 
© Allahu abhd’ (‘God is most bright’). Of course we only use this 
form of greeting when none but ‘Friends’ are present.” 

“Can you tecognise one another in any special way?” I 
asked. 

“T think we can do so by the light of, affection,” answered 
my companion, “‘and in support of this I will tell you a curious 
thing which I myself observed. My little boy, who is not ten 
years old, greeted Mirza Hasan ‘Ali, whom you met in my house 
yesterday, with the words *A//dhu abhd’ the very first time he 
saw him, while I have never known him use this form of saluta- 
tion to a Muhammadan.”’ 

“Your doctrines and practices,” I observed, “certainly seem 
to me very much better than those of the Musulmans, so far as 
I have understood them at present.” 

“Their doctrines,” he rejoined, “are as untenable as their 
actions are corrupt. They have lost the very spirit of religion, 


1 I.e. the old Persian New Yeat’s Day, which falls about 21st March, at the 
vernal equinox. 


ISFAHAN 237 


while degrading symbols into superstitions. See, for example, 
what they say concerning the signs of the Imam Mahdi’s coming. 
They expect Antichrist to come riding on an ass, the distance 
between the ears of which shall be a mile, while at each stride 
it shall advance a parasang. They further assert that each of 
the hairs on its body shall emit the sweetest melodies, which 
will charm all who allow themselves to listen into following 
Antichrist. Some of the mu//ds believe that this ass, the exist- 
ence of which it is impossible to credit, if one reflects for a 
moment on the absurdity of the characteristics attributed to it, 
is concealed in Yangi-dunyd (‘the New World,’ z.e. America), which 
they say is ‘opposite’ to Isfahan, and that in the fullness of time 
it will appear out of a well in this neighbourhood. The absence 
of these impossible and imaginary signs was the excuse whereby 
they justified their disbelief in His Highness the Point (ze. the 
Bab), and refused to see in him the Promised Deliverer whom 
they professed to be expecting. But we, who understand all 
these signs in a metaphorical sense, see very well that they have 
been already fulfilled. For what is Antichrist but a type of those 
who oppose the truth and slay the holy ones of God? What is 
the ass of Antichrist, striding across the earth, and seducing all 
those who will give ear to the sweet strains proceeding from it, 
but these same foolish mu//ds who support the temporal powers 
in attempting to crush the Truth, and please the natural in- 
clinations and lusts of men by their false teachings. ‘The 
possessions of the infidel are lawful unto you,’ they proclaim. 
How easy a doctrine to receive, and how profitable! This is but 
one instance of these ‘sweet strains’ to which all whose eyes are 
not opened to the Truth of God, and whose hearts are not filled 
by the Voice of His Spirit, lend their ears so readily. In a similar 
manner do we understand all the symbols which they have 
degraded into actual external objects. Thus the Bridge of Sirdt, 
overt which all must pass to enter Paradise, which is ‘finer than 
a hair and sharper than a sword,’ what is it but faith in the 


238 ISFAHAN 


Manifestation of God, which is so difficult to the hard of heart, 
the worldly, and the proud?” 

Conversing thus, we arrived at the side of the river, just where 
it is spanned by the bridge called Pul-i-Khaju, a much finer 
structure than even the bridge of thirty-three arches which I had 
admired so much on my entry into Julfa. My companion sug- 
gested that we should sit here awhile on the lower terrace (for 
the bridge is built on two levels) and smoke a ka/ydn, and to this 
I readily consented. 

After admiring the massive piers and solid masonry of the 
bridge, and the wide sweep here made by the Zayanda-Rud, 
we resumed our way along the southern bank in the direction 
of Julf4. On our way we visited the deserted palace called 
Haft-dast (‘Seven Hands”). Here was visible the same neglected 
splendour and ruined magnificence which was discernible else- 
where. One building, the Namak-ddn (‘Salt-cellar”), had just 
been pulled down by one of the ministers of the Zillu’s-Sultan to 
afford material for a house which he was building for himself. 
Another, called A’iné-khdné (“the Chamber of Mirrors”), was 
nearly stripped of the ornaments which gave it its name, the 
remainder being for the most part broken and cracked. Every- 
where it was the same—crumbling walls, heaps of rubbish, and 
marred works of art, still beautiful in spite of injuries, due as much 
to wanton mischief as to mere neglect. Would that some portion 
of that money which is spent in building new palaces in the 
capital, and constructing mihmdn-khdnés neither beautiful nor 
pleasant, were devoted to the preservation of the glorious relics 
of a past age! That, however, is as a rule the last thing an Oriental 
monarch cares about. ‘To construct edifices which may perpetuate 
his own name is of far more importance in his eyes than to 
protect from injury those built by his predecessors, which, indeed, 
he is perhaps not sorty to see crumbling away like the dynasties 
which reared them. And so it goes on—king succeeding king, 
dynasty overthrowing dynasty, ruin added to ruin; and through 


ISFAHAN 239 


it all the mighty spirit of the people “‘dreaming the dream of the 
soul’s disentanglement,” while the stony-eyed lions of Persepolis 
look forth in their endless watch over a nation which slumbers, 
but is not dead. 












VV ay : 


CASE TR eos. 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


“Wa jald’s-suytlu ‘ani’ t-tululi, ka’ annahd 
Zuburen, tujiddu mutina-hd aklamu-hd. 
Fa-wakaftu as’alu-hd: fa-keyfa st’ dlu-na 
Summen khawalida, ma _yabinu kalému-hd?”’ 


“And the torrents have laid bare its traces, as though 
’T were a book of which a pen renews the characters. 
And I stood questioning them: but how can we question 
Dumb rocks, whose speech is not clear?” —(Mo‘allaka of Lebid.) 


“ Shirdz, u ab-i-Ruknd, va dn bad-i-khush-nasim; 
‘Ayb-ash ma-kun, ki khdl-i-rukh-i-haft kishvar-ast!” 


“Shiraz, and the stream of Ruknabad, and that fragrant breeze— 
Disparage it not, for it is the beauty-spot of the seven regions!” 


(Hapiz.) 
“ Chin mi-guzari bi-khak-i-Shirdz 
Gu man bi-fulin zamin asir-am !” 


“When thou passest by the earth of Shiraz 
Say I am a captive in such-and-such a land!” 


NCE again the vicissitudes and charms of the toad are 

before me, but in this case a new and potent factor, hitherto 
absent, comes in to counteract the regret which one must always 
feel in quitting a place where one has been kindly received and 
hospitably entertained, and where one has made friends, most 
of whom one will in all probability never meet again. This 
potent incentive to delay my departure no longer is the thought 
that when I quit Isfahan, less than a week will see me in the 
classical province of Fars, less than a fortnight will bring me 
to the glories of Persepolis, and that after that two short days 
will unfold before my longing eyes the shrines and gardens of 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 241 


“the pute earth of Shiraz,” which has been throughout the goal 
of my pilgrimage. 

Of course the first day’s march was no exception to the 
general rule I have already laid down. I was aroused before 
8 a.m., and informed that the muleteers were ready to start, 
and desired to do so at once, as they proposed to “‘break a 
stage,” as the expression goes—that is, to push on a distance of 
eight or nine parasangs to Mayar, the second halting-place out 
of Isfahan to the south. I accordingly dressed hurriedly, and 
finished packing, full of anxiety to secure so desirable a con- 
summation as the shortening of the less interesting part of the 
journey by a whole day. When I descended, I found that the 
muleteer had gone off again to fetch the inevitable sacking and 
ropes which are always wanted, and apparently always forgotten. 
I was compelled, therefore, to abandon all hopes of getting 
further than Marg, some three parasangs distant from Julfa, 
and to resign myself to an idle morning. It was not till after 
lunch that all was ready for the start, and, bidding farewell to 
my kind host, Dr Hoernle, I mounted the sorry steed assigned 
to me, and, with my mind filled with delightful anticipations, 
turned my face in the direction of Shiraz. Karapit, the head 
servant of the Mission, accompanied me on my way as far as 
the “Farewell Fountain” (rendered conspicuous by the solitary 
tree which stands beside it), and even for some distance beyond 
it, till the post-house of Marg appeared in the distance. Then 
he turned back, wishing us a good journey; and a monotonous 
ride of an hour or so brought us to our halting-place (which 
the muleteers, for some reason, had changed from Marg to a 
village somewhat farther on, called Kal‘a-i-Shir) while it was 
still early in the afternoon. We put up at a dilapidated caravan- 
satay, where nothing occurred to vary the monotony, except the 
attival, some time after sunset, of a party of Jewish minstrels 
and dancing-boys, who were, like ourselves, bound for Shiraz. 

Next day we left the plain, and entered the rugged defile 


B 16 


242 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


known as the Urchini Pass, the somewhat monotonous grandeur 
of which was enlivened by numbers of pilgrims bound for 
Kerbel4, by way of Isfah4n and Kirmanshah, whom Haji Safar 
did not fail to greet with a salutation of “Ziydratat kabul!” 
(“May your pilgrimage be accepted!”’). Here I may remark that 
the greetings used on the road differ from those employed 
elsewhere, and each one has its appropriate answer. The. com- 
monest of them are, “Fursat bdshad!” (“May it be an oppot- 
tunity!’’), to which the answet is, “‘ Khudd bi-shumd fursat dihad!” 
(“May God give you opportunity!”’); and “Oghir bdshad!” 
(‘May it be luck!”’), the reply to which is, “Oghdr-i-shumd bt- 
khayr bad!” (“May your luck be good!”’). 

It was not yet 3 p.m. when we teached Mayar, and halted 
at an old caravansaray, the construction of which was, as usual, 
attributed to Shah ‘Abb4s. There was nothing to do but to while 
away the time as well as might be by lounging about, looking 
at the few travellers who had taken up their quarters at this dis- 
consolate spot, and superintending the culinary operations of 
Haji Safar. 

The next day’s match was almost precisely similar to that 
of the previous day—a gray, stony, glaring plain (thinly covered 
with camel-thorn and swarming with lizards), on either side 
of which were bare black hills of rugged outline. Soon after 
2 p.m. we came in sight of the blue dome of an Imdmzddé, situated 
in the precincts of the considerable town of Kumishah. As it 
was a Thursday (Shab-7- Juma, Friday Eve), which is the great 
day for performing minor pilgrimages and visiting the graves 
of deceased friends, we met streams of the inhabitants coming 
forth from the town bent on such pious errands. Taking them 
all round, I think they were the most ill-favoured, dour-looking 
people I ever saw in Persia. Generally, however forbidding the 
appearance of the men may be (of the women one cannot judge, 
since they keep their faces veiled), the children at least are pretty 
and attractive. But in all these files of people whom we met I 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 243 


hardly saw a single face which was otherwise than sour and 
forbidding. 

Before 3 p.m. I reached the telegraph station, and was wel- 
comed by Mr Gifford, the resident telegraphist, and his wife. 
The son of the Governor of Kumishah, Mirza Aka by name, 
was there, and later he was joined by his father, Mirza Mahdi 
Khan, who had come to try and extract some information about 
the political outlook in Isfahan. It appeared that an unfortunate 
man from Izidkhwast had arrived in Kumishah on that or the 
preceding day, bringing the news of the Zillu’s-Sultan’s dismissal. 
This news was naturally very unwelcome to the Governor—so 
unwelcome that he not only declined to believe it, but ordered 
the man who brought it to be bastinadoed. Although this had 
the effect of checking further speculation and gossip, the Gover- 
nor was unable to overcome a certain feeling of uneasiness as 
to his future tenure of office, and hence these visits to the tele- 
graph-office. 

Next morning the muleteer came to see me early, and offered 
to push on to Amin-abad that day and to Shulghistan in Fars 
on the morrow. I found, however, that this procedure would 
involve passing some distance to the east of the curious village 
of Izidkhwast or YezdikhwAst, which I was anxious to see. I 
therefore decided to go no farther than Maksud Beg, and as this 
was only four parasangs distant, I gladly accepted the invitation 
of my kind host to stay to lunch and start after mid-day. The 
march was absolutely without interest, and the village of Maksud 
Beg, whete we arrived about 4.30 p.m., was a most desolate- 
looking spot. Here we found the Jewish minstrels who had over- 
taken us at Marg entertaining the muleteers and villagers with 
a concert in the caravansaray. The music appeared to me very 
pleasing. This, and the exhilarating thought that on the morrow 
I should bid farewell to ‘Irak, and enter the classical province 
of Fars, the cradle of Persian greatness, enabled me to bear with 
equanimity the dullness of the dilapidated caravansaray. I was 


16-2 


244 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


further regaled with a dissertation by Haji Safar on the virtues 
of the wood-louse. This animal, he informed me, only appears 
for a short period before the Nawr#éz. At that great festival 
people take it in their hands along with gold coins, “for luck.” 
It bears different names in the north and south: in Teheran it 
is called Ahar-i-khdki (“ Earth-ass”’), while in Shiraz it enjoys the 
more pretentious title of kharak-i-khudd’? (“ Divine little donkey”). 

On the following morning (10th March) we got off about 
7-45 a.m. The scenery was similar to that of the preceding 
two days—a stony valley, bounded by parallel chains of hills. 
As we advanced, the hills to the east became lower and lower, 
finally being reduced to broken fin-like ridges, situated one 
behind another, while beyond these, bordering the western edge 
of the plain, high snow mountains began to come into view, 
which the muleteer informed me belonged to the province of 
Luristan. About 11.15 a.m. we halted for lunch at Amin-abad, 
the last village in ‘Irak. From this point we could clearly see 
before us a small conical hill, beyond which lay the hamlet of 
Yezdikhwast, which I was so anxious to see. I had read many 
accounts of this natural fastness, perched on a precipitous tock, 
and accordingly, as we drew near the conical hill (which is called 
Telé-pildy, 1 suppose from its resemblance in shape to the pile 
of rice which constitutes this dish), I strained my eyes eagerly 
to catch a glimpse of its eyry-like abodes. 

My first impressions were a mixture of disappointment and 
surprise. On passing the hill I could plainly discern the green 
dome of a little I~dmzddé sutrounded by a straggling cemetery: 
beyond this, apparently on the same level, and situated on the 
flat plain which we were traversing, appeared the village of 
Yezdikhwast. Where was its boasted inaccessibility, and the 
sheer precipices which, as all travellers asserted, rendered it one 
of the most marvellous natural fastnesses to be found in the 
world? No amount of exaggeration, I thought, could account 
for such a description of the place I saw before me, which ap- 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 245 


parently did not enjoy even the most trifling elevation above the 
suttounding plain. While I was reflecting thus, and wondering 
if the muleteers had, for some object of their own, deceived me, 
we passed through the cemetery, and all at once came upon one 
of the most remarkable sights I ever saw. 

Right across our path lay a mighty chasm, looking like the 
dry bed of some giant river of the past. In the middle of this 
stood what I can only describe as a long narrow island, with 
precipitous sides, the summit of which was crowned with tier 
upon tier of gray, flat-roofed dwellings, which even hung over 
the edge of the cliff, supported by beams and rafters. These, 
projecting outwards in all directions, gave to the place the 
appearance of some strange collection of birds’ nests rather than 
of human habitations. At the upper (ze. the western) end this 
island was almost joined to the northern edge of the chasm, the 
comparatively shallow depression which separated them being 
spanned by a drawbridge, by raising which all access to the town 
can be cut off. At all other points a sheer precipice, increasing 
in height towards the east, protects it from all possibility of 
invasion. 

At Yezdikhwast the road to Shiraz bifurcates. What is called 
the sar-hadd, or summer toad, beats to the south-west into the 
mountains; while the garmsir, or winter road, crosses the chasm 
ot valley below Yezdikhwast, and trends towards the south-east. 
As it was still early in the year, and the snow was not yet gone 
from the uplands traversed by the former, we had determined 
on following the latter, which course had this additional advan- 
tage, that it would lead us past Persepolis. 

The inhabitants of Yezdikhwast do not apparently cate to 
have strangers dwelling in their cliff-girt abode; at any rate, the 
caravansaray and post-house are bothsituated at the bottom of the 
chasm, across the little river (Ab-i-Marvan) which flows through 
it, and to the south-east of the crag on which the village stands. 
On coming in sight of the brink of the chasm we therefore 


246 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


made a detour to the right (west) which brought us to the 
point where the drawbridge is placed, whence a path leads down 
the side of the gully to the caravansaray, where we arrived in 
about a quarter of an hour. It is a very fine edifice, built, as an 
insctiption over the gateway testifies, by “‘the most potent king 
- and most generous prince, the diffuser of the faith of the pure 
Im4ms,...the dog of the threshold of ‘Ali the son of Abu- 
Talib,...‘Abbd4s the Safavi, may God perpetuate his kingdom 
and rule!” The inscription is very beautifully executed, but un- 
fortunately it has been greatly injured, many of the tiles having 
been removed, and others broken. I asked the villagers why they 
did not take better care of a building of which they ought to 
feel proud. They replied that it was not their fault: thirteen 
ot fourteen yeats ago a “‘Firangi” came by, and, wishing to 
possess some of the tiles, offered one of the men at the post- 
house two or three #4mdns if he would remove some of them. 
The temptation was too strong for the latter, and accordingly 
he went the same night with a hammer and chisel to carry out 
the traveller’s wishes. Of course he broke at least as many tiles 
as he removed, and a noble monument of the past was irreparably 
injured to gratify a traveller’s passing whim. 

I was anxious to see the interior of the village, and accordingly 
asked some of the inhabitants who came to stare at me whether 
they could take me over it. They readily agreed to do so, and 
after tea I sallied forth with my guides, crossed the fields, already 
green with sprouting wheat, and, skirting the southern face of 
this natural citadel, reached the drawbridge at the western end. 
Passing over this, we entered a dark passage, which, with 
occasional outlets into comparatively open spaces, traverses, or 
rather tunnels through, the whole village from west to east. 
This is the only street, for the rock is narrow, though long, and 
there is not room in most places for more than two houses side 
by side. My guides informed me that their town, of which they 
seemed proud in no small degree, was very old—300 years older 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 247 


than Isfahan—and, in proof of their assertion, they pointed to 
a stone in the gateway on which they said I should find the date. 
As a matter of fact, the only date I could see was (A.H.) 
1218 (about A.D. 1803), but there appeared to be other more 
ot less obliterated characters which the gloom pervading 
even the entrance of this dim passage would not suffer me to 
decipher. 

As we advanced, the street, at first open above, became 
entirely covered over by houses, and the darkness was such 
that we could not see a yard ahead, and were only saved from 
continual collisions with other passengers by the cries of “Yd 
Alléh” attered by my companions to give warning of our 
approach. 

The houses are for the most part three or four stories high, 
and are entered by stairs communicating directly with the street. 
On the outer side they are furnished with platforms or balconies, 
one above the other, which overhang the cliff in a most perilous 
manner. On to some of these my guides took me that I might 
admire the view, but my enjoyment of this was somewhat 
marred by the sense of insecurity with which the very frail 
appearance of the platforms inspired me. “I should have 
thought,” said I to my guides, “‘that these platforms would have 
been very dangerous to your children, for I observe that they 
ate provided with no rail to prevent anyone from falling over.” 
“They are dangerous,” was the quite unconcerned reply; “hardly 
a year passes without two or three falling over and being killed.” 
**I wonder the houses themselves don’t fall,” I remarked after 
a brief interval, during which the palpable weakness of the flimsy 
structure had become more than ever manifest to me. ‘‘ They 
do,” replied the unmoved villagers; “look there.” I turned my 
eyes in the direction indicated, and saw a dismal wreck hanging 
over the edge of the cliff. Feeling my curiosity quite satisfied, 
I suggested that we should continue our tour of inspection, 
whereupon they took me into one of the houses, which appeared 


248 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


to be the chief shop of the place, and set before me an array of 
nuts and fruits, a few of which I felt compelled to eat as a matter 
of courtesy, while the villagers watched me with grave and polite 
attention. 

We next visited the mosque, which seemed ancient, though 
- I could find no date graven on its walls—nothing but the usual 
summary of Shi‘ite faith: “‘ There 7s no God but God: Muhammad 
is the Apostle of God: “Ali is the Friend of God.” Though mote 
solid in structure than the other buildings, it is very simply 
adorned, for it contains nothing but a minbar, or pulpit, looking 
more like a step-ladder than anything else. This, and the arch of 
the mibrdb by which it stood, were the sole features whereby one 
could divine that the place was not intended for a barn or a 
granaty. 

On leaving the mosque we visited the one other shop which 
this primitive place contains, where I was politely compelled 
to accept of a quantity of that gruesome sweetmeat known as 
shakkar-panir (““sugat-cheese’’). Then we quitted the village by 
the same way whereby we had entered it (for indeed there is no 
other), and returned to the caravansaray. Though I retired to 
bed early, I lay awake for some time watching the lights which 
twinkled from the airy dwellings of Yezdikhwast and gave to 
the shadowy outline of the great rock somewhat the appearance 
of a gigantic vessel lying at anchor in a river. 

Next day we ascended the southern side of the gully by a 
road running eastwards, until we again reached the summit of 
the plateau. Here I halted for a few moments to gaze once 
more on the picturesque scene, and then we struck off towards 
the south, still bearing somewhat to the east. On the road we 
met many peasants and some few travellers; they nearly all 
carried arms, and were as a rule darker in complexion and fiercer 
in aspect than the inhabitants of ‘Irak. About 2.30 p.m. we 
atrived at Shulghistan, a small picturesque village, rendered 
conspicuous by a green-domed Imdmzddé, close to which is 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 249 


situated the dilapidated caravansaray. Since the latter appeared 
incapable of furnishing comfortable quarters, we betook our- 
selves to the chdpdr-khdné (post-house) opposite, where I was 
provided with a very comfortable room. The postmaster (nd’zb- 
chdpar) was extremely courteous and attentive, and sat con- 
versing with me for some time. From him I learned that the 
news of the Zillu’s-Sultan’s fall, and the consequent dismissal 
of all his deputy-governors, had created great excitement through- 
out Fars, and especially at Shiraz, where the Sahib-Divan, in 
whom the administration of the province had hitherto been 
virtually vested, was greatly disliked. His dismissal was the signal 
for universal rejoicing, and it was said that Riza Khan, the chief 
of one of the Arab tribes settled in the neighbourhood of Shiraz, 
was encamped near the Tomb of Cyrus at Murghab, waiting for 
the arrival of the ex-governor, against whom he was breathing 
threats of vengeance. The postmaster thought, however, that 
the tidings of the advance of the new governor, Prince Ihtisha- 
mu’d-Dawla, who had already reached, or nearly reached, 
Isfahan, would prevent him from proceeding to extremities. 

Later on another man came in, whose one sole topic of con- 
vetsation was dervishes, for whom he professed the most un- 
bounded regard. His enthusiasm had apparently been aroused 
by the recent visit of some celebrated saint from Kirman. I 
ventured to ask him if there were any Babis in Shulghistan, at 
the very idea of which he expressed the utmost horror, adding 
with pride, ““We would at once slay anyone whom we suspected 
of belonging to that sect, for here, thank God, we are all followers 
of Murtaza ‘Ali.”’ 

His attitude towards the Babis did not encourage me to make 
further enquiries in this direction, and I therefore allowed him 
to ramble on about his dervishes, Imams, and miracles. He in- 
formed me, amongst numerous other stories of equal probability, 
that there was a mountain two parasangs to the east of Yezdikh- 
wast called Shah Kannab. There, he said, the two sons of 


250 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


“Hazrat-i-‘Abbas” took refuge in bygone days from the “‘army 
of the infidels.”” The mountain opened to receive them, and 
they passed within it; the infidels followed after them, but no 
sooner had they entered than the rocks closed up behind them, 
and shut them in. | 

“That was very wonderful,” I said, “but tell me what became 
of them, for I should have thought that it would have been better 
if the mountain had closed before the ‘army of the infidels’ 
could follow the two saints. As it was, it seems to me that they 
were all shut up together.” 

“Yes,” replied the narrator, ““but, you see, the infidels were 
all turned into stone at once. You might see them still if you 
knew the way which leads to that wondrous cavern—men, 
horses, camels, camel-drivers, children at their lessons, still 
holding in their hands the books they were reading—all turned 
to stone! It is a wonderful thing!” 

“So I should think,” I answered, wondering inwardly whether 
armies of infidels usually carried a host of school-children about 
with them when they went in pursuit of fugitive saints; “‘but 
you haven’t told me what happened to the Imams who were so 
miraculously preserved. Did they make their escape after this 
sional mark of Divine Displeasure had been accomplished?” 

“No, they did not,” rejoined my informant; “they dwell 
there still, and by their holy influence many wonderful miracles 
are wtought, some of which I will tell you. There is a shrine 
with two minarets on the mountain, and these minarets every 
year recede farther and farther apart, a fact well known to all 
in this neighbourhood. Furthermore, whoever goes there, and 
prays, and then fixes his thoughts on anything which he desires 
to possess—gold, silver, or precious stones—can take it from 
the rock to his heart’s content.” 

“And pray,” I asked, “‘can one find one’s way to this mar- 
vellous mountain?”’ 

““No, you cannot,” retorted the other; “‘I could take you 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 251 


there if I chose, but I will not do so. Sahib, who was for- 
merly se/egrafchi at Abadé, offered me money if I would show him 
the way, but I refused, for it is not lawful to reveal to unbelievers 
these holy spots.” 

“That is a pity,” I said; “and I venture to suggest that you 
act unwisely in thus hindering them from witnessing miracles 
whereby they might perhaps be brought to embrace Islam. It is 
precisely for unbelievers that miracles are intended.” 

“Well,” replied my informant, “there is perhaps reason in 
what you say. But it is not necessary to go there to witness 
proofs of the power possessed by the blessed Imams. Of this 
we had a signal proof during last Muharram. A pdvan (ibex or 
mountain-goat) came at that time to the Imdmzddé across the 
road, and took up its abode there for six months. Finally it 
died, and is buried under a tree in the courtyard. We had no 
doubt but that it was sent thither by the command of the blessed 
Imams to strengthen the faith of all of us who witnessed it.” 

Altogether, I spent a very amusing evening with my talkative 
friend, who, delighted to find an appreciative listener, remained 
while I ate my supper, and did not finally leave till it was time 
to retire for the night. 

Next day was bright and windy. The scenery through which 
we passed was of the usual type—a stony plain full of camel- 
thorn (now putting forth beautiful crimson blossoms from its 
apparently sapless branches) between parallel ranges of barren 
hills. The ground swarmed with lizards of two distinct types, 
the ordinary brown lizard and the Buz-mayé. This latter is an 
animal which, as I subsequently learned, sometimes attains a 
length of three or four feet, but the length of most of those 
which I saw did not exceed as many inches. They have big clumsy 
heads furnished with spines, and long tails constricted at the 
point where they join the body, which they have a habit of 
jerking up into an erect position. They ate very nimble in their 
movements, and when frightened dart away like a dusky shadow 





452 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


for a few feet, and again come to a standstill. Haji Safar began 
to tell me a long rambling story about the creation of the Buz- 
mapjé, whereby he sought to account for its harmlessness. He 
related this story in the dreamy, visionary manner which oc- 
casionally came over him, and in the soft lisping accents of the 
South. I was not paying much attention to his narrative, the 
upshot of which appeared to be that the animals after their 
creation all came into the presence of their Creator and sought 
permission to be allowed to injure man, their master and tyrant, 
at some appointed time. All recetved this permission, except 
the Bay-mayé, which came late, and so was forced to be content 
with a harmlessness far removed from its malicious desites. 

My attention revived, however, when he began to talk about 
Shiraz. “In eleven days mote, Sahib, you will see Shiraz: perhaps 
in ten, if you do not stop at Takht-i- Jamshid (Persepolis). You 
will then enter it on the Nawri#z: all the people—men, women, 
and children—will be out in the gardens and fields; many of 
them in the Tang-i-Alahu- Akbar, through which you will catch 
your first glimpse of the city. All will be dressed in new clothes, 
as smart as they can make themselves, enjoying the beautiful 
green fields, singing, smoking ka/ydns, and drinking tea. There 
is no other city like Shiraz: all about it the earth is green with 
gtass; even the roofs of the bazaars are covered with herbage. 
It is the Green City of Solomon (shabr-i-sabz-i-Suleymdn). And 
the people are so quick and clever and generous. Not like those 
miserable, miserly Isfahanis, nor yet like those stupid, thick- 
headed Khurasanis. Have I ever told you the verses made by 
the Isfahani, the Shirazi, and the Khurdasani, Sahib?” 

“No,” I answered; “I should like to hear them very much.” 

“Once upon a time,” he resumed, ‘“‘an Isfahani, a Shirazi, 
and Khurasani were travelling together. Now, one night they 
succeeded in getting a dish of pi/dy, and the Isfahani, being a 
witty fellow, as well as stingy (like all his rascally countrymen), 
suggested that no one should be allowed to have a share of the 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 253 


pildy unless he could make a verse about his native country. 
To this they agreed, and the Isfahani began— 
‘ Ax Safahdin meyve-t-haft-rang mi-dyad birun,’ 
(‘From Isfahan fruits of seven colours come forth.’) 
The Shirazi, without a moment’s hesitation—for all Shirazis have 
a natutal gift for versifying—went on— 
* Ab-i-Rukndbdd-i-md az sang mt-dyad birtin? 
(‘Our stream of Ruknabad comes forth from the rock.’) 
It was now the Khurasani’s turn, but he, poor fellow, being 
very stupid and slow, after the manner of his countrymen, could 
not think of a rhyme for a long time, and was in great fear that 
he would lose his pi/dw after all, when suddenly an inspiration 
came to him, and he concluded the stanza thus:— 
‘Ag Khurdsdn misl-i-man aldang mt-dyad birtin? 
(‘Out of Khurdsan come forth blackguards like me.’) 
Aldang, you know, is the Khurasani word for a /#/7, a rough, or 
street vagabond.” 

About 2 p.m. we arrived at the little town of Abddé, another 
stronghold of the Babis. It will be remembered that the Babi 
missionary at Isfahan, on bidding me farewell, had promised to 
write to one of his co-religionists here, as well as at Shiraz, to be 
on the look-out for me. I therefore hoped that I might have an 
opportunity of holding further conversation with the members 
of the proscribed sect, but in this hope I was disappointed, for 
the shortness of my stay in the town, and the hospitality of 
Sergeant Glover of the telegraph station, did not give me leisure 
to seek out the person indicated to me. I was very favourably 
impressed with Abdadé in every way, and the approach to it, 
through lanes surrounded by orchards and gardens, the trees of 
which were already bursting into blossom and filling the air 
with their fragrance, was very beautiful. 

At the telegraph station I was cordially received by Sergeant 
Glover and his eldest son, a bright, clever boy of about fifteen, 


254 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


who had an excellent knowledge of Persian. I was most hospit- 
ably entertained, and after dinner we sat up late discussing 
Persian folk-lore, concerning which my host was a perfect mine 
of information. He told me of a place called the Pari-ho/, or fairy 
hole, near Soh; of marvellous wells and caves in the mountains; 
~ and of a hill where an old fire-worshipper was said to have taken 
refuge from his persecutors, who marked the spot with a pile of 
stones, meaning to return next day and renew their search. During 
the night, however, by the Divine Power, the whole hill was 
covered with similar heaps of stones, which utterly baffled the 
seatch of the persecutors. These heaps are said still to be visible. 

Next day a short march of about three hours brought us to the 
post-house of Surmé. On arriving there, I was surprised to see 
a European traveller standing at the door, who greeted me in 
English. He proved to be one of the telegraph staff at Shiraz 
travelling up to Isfahan and Teheran, and kindly offered me a 
share of the bala-khdné (uppet-room), which was the only respect- 
able apartment in the post-house. Even that was horribly cold 
and draughty, for a violent wind was still blowing. Notwith- 
standing this, we spent a very pleasant evening together, and, by 
combining our resources, managed to produce a very respectable 
supper. 

Next day, after a leisurely breakfast, we parted on our te- 
spective roads. The wind had dropped, the sky was cloudless, 
and the sun very powerful. We could see the road stretching 
away straight before us for three parasangs or so, when it took 
a sudden turn to the left round an angle of the mountains. As we 
advanced—very slowly, owing to the sorry condition of our 
beasts—the plain gradually narrowed, and became broken by 
great crests of rock rising abruptly out of the ground. The 
mountains on the right (west) grew gradually higher and higher, 
and their summits were now crowned with snow. On reaching 
the angle of the road above-mentioned we halted by some 
rocks for lunch. The spot was not devoid of beauty, which was 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 255 


enhanced by the numerous pink and crimson blossoms of the 
camel-thorn (shdh-pasand), which grew in profusion round about. 

On leaving this place we began to ascend, and continued to do 
so till, about 4 p.m., we reached the disconsolate stone caravan- 
saray of Khan-i-Khurré, which stands quite alone and apart from 
other habitations. It was crowded with people of all sorts: 
Bakhtiyaris, and other tribesmen on their migrations towards 
their summer quarters; people who had come out from Shiraz 
and elsewhere’ to meet the new Governor and do him honour; 
and a certain small contingent of ordinary travellers. I might 
have had some difficulty in obtaining quarters if my acquaintance 
of the previous day had not informed me that there was a special 
room in the caravansatay, set apart for members of the telegraph 
staff, which I might have by applying to the caravansaray- 
keeper for the key. I did so, and thus obtained a warm, snug 
room, where I might otherwise have been compelled to put up 
with the most miserable quarters. Though the caravansaray was 
in the most ruined and filthy condition, the ground being strewn 
with dead camels and hotses in various stages of decay, the scene 
was not lacking in interest owing to the strange costumes and 
stranger appearance of the tribesmen. The women do not covet 
their faces, and many of them are endowed with a certain wild 
beauty. 

After tea I had a visit from the postmaster (1a’tb-chdpdr), who 
came to consult me about some disorder of the chest from which 
he was suffering. He soon, however, forgot the object which 
had brought him, and wandered off into a variety of topics, which 
he illustrated with a surprising number of quotations from the 
poets; and it was only when he rose to depart that he again 
recutted to his ailments. His dreamy abstracted manner had 
already led me to suspect that he was a votary of opium and other 
narcotics, and in reply to a question to this effect he answered 
that he did occasionally indulge in a pipe of ##rydék when depressed 
in spirits. 


256 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


“Perhaps you take sashish now and then for a change?” I 
asked. 

“Well,” he replied, “I don’t deny that I do now and then.” 

““Of course you smoke the £a/ydn too?” 

“Yes,” he said, “what else is there to do in this desolate spot 
where there is no society except these tribesmen?” 

“Well,” I said, “I wish very much that I could do anything 
for you, but the state of the case is this: the essential principle 
of treating diseases is to remove their cause, and unless this can 
be done it is very little use to give medicines. Now, smoking 
kalydns in excess disorders the chest, and I understand that you 
do smoke them very often. Whether the opium and fashish which 
you also take are answerable for the evil in any degree I can’t 
say, but at any rate it is scarcely likely that they do you any good. 
Just now you quoted this couplet from Hafiz— 


* Dibkdn-i-sdl-khurdé ché khush guft ba pisar, 


“ Key nuir-i-chashm-i-man, bi-juz az kishte na-d’ravi!”? 


‘How well said the aged farmer to his son, 

*O Light of my eyes, thou shalt not reap save that which thou hast sown!’’’ 
Now people who ‘sow’ kalydns (opium) and hashish necessarily 
‘reap’ bad chests; and I am afraid that, unless you can manage 
to give them up, of at any rate confine your indulgence in them 
to moderate limits, your chest will not get any better. Do you 
think you can do this?” 

“You are right,” he replied (convinced, I feel sure, more by 
the quotation from Hafiz than by anything else), “‘and I will try 
to follow your advice.” So saying, he departed and left me alone. 

Next day we started early, as the muleteers were anxious to 
“break” a stage—that is, to go three stages in two days; so that 
our halting-place for the night was not to be Dihbid, where there 
is a telegraph station, but Khan-i-Kirgan, situated some two 
hours’ march beyond it. Our road continued to ascend almost 
till we reached Dihbid, and once or twice we enjoyed a fine view 
to the east across the Plain of Abarkuh to the great range of 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 257 


mountains beyond which lies the city of Yezd. We were joined 
for some distance by a dark, stalwart man, who turned out to 
be a kdsid (courier) carrying letters from Abddé to Bawanat. He 
was conversationally inclined, and told me tales of encounters 
with wolves and other wild animals which abound in these 
mountains, but the dialect which he spoke was difficult to com- 
prehend, and prevented me from profiting by his anecdotes as 
fully as I might otherwise have done. Suddenly we came to a 
toad crossing ours at right angles, and thereupon our companion 
took a long draught from our water-bottle, and, without a word 
of farewell, disappeared in a valley leading down into the Plain 
of Abarkth. | 

After his departure Haji Safar entertained me with a long 
disquisition on kdsids and their marvellous powers of endurance. 
He assured me that one had walked from Teheran to Shiraz in 
five days, while another had gone from Bushire to Shiraz in two 
days. He added that the latter had come near forfeiting his life 
for his prowess, because Prince Ferhad Mirza, then Governor of 
Fars, hearing of his exploit, had said, “‘Such a man had best be 
put to death forthwith, for one who can go on foot from here 
to Bushire in two days might commit murder or highway rob- 
bery, and be in another province before his crime was even dis- 
coveted.” I am fain to believe that this was only a grim jest on 
the part of Ferhad Mirza; at any rate the sentence, as I was in- 
formed, was not carried out. 

The wind, which had been gradually increasing in strength 
since the morning, began now to cause us much annoyance, 
and indeed Dihbid, as I subsequently learnt by experience, is 
one of the windiest places in Persia. Haji Safar, however, de- 
clared that in this respect it was far behind Damghan, on the 
Mashhad road. “This is but a place which the wind visits at 
times,” he remarked, “‘but it lives there: its abode is in a well, 
and anyone can arouse it at any time by throwing dirt or stones 
into the well, when it rushes out in anger.” 


B 17 


258 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


Our road was redeemed from dreariness by the variety of 
beautiful flowers with which the advancing spring had bedecked 
the upland meadows. I noticed particularly the wild hyacinth 
(sunbul-i-biydbdni), and the sight of its long narrow dark green 
leaves enabled me better to understand the appositeness of the 
comparison between it and the “tresses of the beloved”’ so often 
made by the Persian poets. 

It was nearly 1.30 p.m. when we reached Dihbid, a small 
village consisting of about fifteen or twenty cabins, a very 
dilapidated caravansatay, a post-house, and the telegraph-office. 
To the latter I at once made my way, and was welcomed vety 
cordially by Mr and Mts Blake. They expressed great regret on 
learning that I could not stop with them for the night, and 
repeatedly pressed me to do so with a hospitality so evidently 
genuine that I would gladly have altered my plans and relin- 
quished the idea of “breaking a stage” had that been possible; 
but the muleteer had gone on with the baggage, and I was 
therefore compelled to adhere to my original intention, con- 
tenting myself with a halt of three or four hours for rest and 
refreshment. 

It was beginning to grow dusk when I again set out, and 
the gathering shades of evening warned me that I must bestir 
myself, especially as the muleteer was no longer with us to direct 
out coutse. Mr Blake kindly volunteered to ride some distance 
with me to put me in the right way, and this offer I was glad to 
accept. Crossing the little river just beyond the village we saw 
a flight of about a dozen storks, and farther on four gazelles. 
Half a mile or more to the west of the road stood an old withered 
tree close to a ruined caravansaray, and this spot, as Mr Blake 
informed me, was teputed to be haunted by a “white lady,” 
but with the details of this superstition he was unable to acquaint 
me. 

When we had ridden a farsakh, my host bade me farewell 
and turned back, whereupon we quickened our pace so as to 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 259 


make the best use of what daylight still remained. Long before 
we teached our halting-place, however, it was quite dark, and 
we were left to pick our dubious way by the light of the stars 
and a crescent moon; so that it was more by good luck than good 
management (for the road had here dwindled to the merest 
track) that we were finally apprised by the barking of dogs of 
the proximity of human habitations. In five minutes more we 
crossed a bridge and found ourselves at the solitary caravansatay 
of Khan-i-Kirgan. 

As it was quite dark, and I was, moreover, very cold and 
tired, I had no opportunity of making any observations on the 
nature of the place or its inhabitants that night, but on the 
following morning I discovered that here also were domiciled 
multitudes of tribesmen on their way to their summer quartets. 
On the road, which wound through beautiful grassy valleys 
bedecked with sweet spring flowers, we met many mote, all 
bound for the highland pastures which we were leaving behind 
us, and a pretty sight it was to see them pass; stalwart, hardy- 
looking men, with dark, weather-beaten faces; lithe, graceful 
boys clothed in skins; and tall, active women with resolute 
faces, not devoid of a comeliness which no veil concealed. They 
wete accompanied by droves of donkeys bearing their effects, 
and flocks of sheep and goats, which paused here and there to 
nibble the fresh grass. 

Early in the afternoon we descended into the valley of Mur- 
ehab, and, passing the hamlet of that name (a well-built and 
’ thriving-looking village, pleasantly situated by a beautiful clear 
streamlet) halted at Dih-1-Naw, some three miles farther on. The 
feeling of regret at not having sought for a lodging at the former, 
which the first sight of the somewhat squalid appearance of the 
latter caused me, was at once removed when I learned that the 
eroup of ancient ruins generally identified with the site of the 
city of Pasargade on European maps, and known to the Persians 
as Lakht-i-Suleymdn (“the Throne of Solomon’) and Masjid-i- 


17-2 


260 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


Maddar-i-Suleymdn (“the Mosque of the Mother of Solomon”’), 
was situated within a few minutes’ walk of the village. As it 
was not much past four o’clock in the afternoon, I determined 
at once to visit them, and thus to obtain a general idea of their 
appearance and atrangement, reserving a closer inspection of 
_ them for the morning. They have been so often and so well 
described that I shall confine myself to a brief account of their 
more salient features. 

Leaving Dih-i-Naw on the south, or Shiraz, side, the first 
object of interest reached 1s the Takht-2-Suleymdn. This, consisting 
of a large platform faced with masonry, projects from the face 
of a hill situated a little to the left (east) of the high road, not five 
minutes’ walk from the village. Its frontage must be about 150 
feet, and here the conscientious thoroughness and solidity of the 
masonty is most easily appreciated. I noticed the holes for the 
iron clamps (which have themselves been removed) noticed by 
Sit R. Ker Porter, and also the peculiar marks on most of the 
stones which he, if I remember rightly, was inclined to regard 
as characters of some ancient language. The villager who accom- 
panied me declared that they were marks placed by each mason 
on the stone at which he had worked, in order that the amount 
of his work and the wages due to him might be proved; and I 
have no doubt that such is their nature. At any rate, they in no 
wise resemble the characters of any known alphabet. 

From the platform of the [akht-i-Suleymdn the whole plain 
of Pasargade is clearly visible. The Shiraz road takes a bold 
sweep towards the west ere it quits the plain and enters the grand © 
defile through which flows the river Pulvar, and all the ruins 
except the Tomb of Cyrus (or Masjid-i-Mddar-i-Suleymdn, as the 
Persians call it) are situated within a short distance of it and of 
one another, on the left hand of the southward-bound traveller. 
The Tomb of Cyrus lies about half a mile beyond them, on the 
opposite side of the road: it is encircled by a little village, and 
is regarded by the Persians as a place of considerable sanctity. 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 261 


The first building to which I came on descending from the 
Takht-i-Suleymdn is that called by Ker Porter Azash-kedé (“the 
Fire-Temple”’). My guide, however, gave it the name of Zinddn- 
khdné (“the Prison-house”’). It is situated close to the road, which 
it faces, and is very solid and massive in structure, but bears no 
inscriptions or carvings. The western end of the building only 
is standing; it is about thirty feet high, and contains sixteen 
courses of stones, and a window, below which is a buttress. 

The next object which presents itself is a solitary square pillar 
of white stone in twelve courses, bearing a cuneiform inscription 
of four lines, of which the second is separated from the third, 
and the third from the fourth, by a blank space. I could not learn 
that it had any popular name. 

A short distance beyond this lies the main group of ruins, 
called Nakkara-khané-1-Suleyman (“the Music-hall of Solomon’’). 
Amongst these the most conspicuous object is a very tall slender 
column about sixty feet high, white in colour, and circular in 
shape, composed of four stones placed one on the other, the 
length of each one diminishing from below upwards. This 
column is quite plain, and bears no inscription. There are two 
of three other pillar-like structures, which appear to have 
formed the corners of the ruined edifice. At the back of each I 
noticed the hollowing-out of the stone noticed by Ker Potter. 
One of them bears on its north face a cuneiform inscription 
similar to that already noticed on the first column, but con- 
taining four or five different characters. On the western side of 
this group of ruins (7.e. on the side facing the road) are the remains 
of two doorways, each about five feet in width. The stones 
forming the sides of these are blackish in colour and susceptible 
of a high degree of polish. They are broken off within two feet 
of the ground, and on their inner surfaces are carved two pairs 
of feet, both turned towards the entrance. Of these, the outer 
pair are human feet, the inner pair feet like those of a bird: both 
ate beautifully executed. A fragment of a similar doorway also 


262 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


exists on the south side, and this is adorned with two paits of 
human feet. A little beyond this is a portion of wall standing, 
some of the stones of which bear marks similar to those observable 
on the Takht-i-Suleymdn. 

A little distance to the east of this group of ruins, z.e. farther 
- from the toad, stands a solitary column, on the west side of 
which is carved in bas-relief the beautiful winged figure described 
and depicted by Ker Porter and others. I was still absorbed in 
delighted contemplation of this, when my guide, impatient at 
the long delay, called attention to the approach of evening, and 
urged me to return, declaring that it was unsafe to be out in 
the plain after dusk, and reminding me that I could complete 
my examination of the ruins next day. With regret I acceded to 
his request, and reluctantly retraced my steps. On the way back 
my companion talked freely of the state of the country and the 
dismissal of the old Sahib-Divdn from the government of Fars, 
at which he expressed unbounded delight. I asked if the Sahzb- 
Divén had been a cruel governor that he had so aroused the 
hatred of the people. To this question my guide replied in the 
negative, alleging his incapacity and lack of integrity as the reason 
why he was so much disliked. “He has made everything dear,” 
he concluded, “and we enjoy no sort of protection from the 
rapacity of the wandering tribes, who carry off our cattle and 
flocks without the least fear of reprisals. Riza Khan, his old 
enemy, is now encamped between Seydun and Sivand with all 
his tribe, and has sworn to slay him if he can waylay him on his 
journey north; in which attempt I, for my part, wish him all 
success. He has already begun stripping and plundering all the 
followers and retainers of the ex-governor on whom he can lay 
his hands, including forty of Zeynu’l-‘Abidin’s men who were 
sent out to catch him or drive him away, and who came back to 
Shiraz crestfallen and discomfited, with nothing but their shirts, 
As for the new governor, the Ihtish4mu’d-Dawla, if he is like 
his father, Prince Ferhad Mirza, he will keep things in better 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 263 


otder. Indeed, already the marauders have desisted from their 
raids, and our flocks and cattle are once mote safe.” So my 
companion tan on; and I was surprised to see that his fear was 
not so much that the new governor might be too harsh, as that 
he might not govern the province with a sufficiently firm hand. 
Next day on quitting Dih-i-Naw I again visited the ruins 
above described, and, after reluctantly tearing myself away from 
them, proceeded to explore the Tomb of Cyrus. This, as I have 
already mentioned, is called by the Persians “‘the Mosque of the 
Mother of Solomon,” and is regarded as a holy place, so that I 
had some fear lest they should prevent me from entering it. This 
fear fortunately proved to be groundless; indeed, one of the 
inhabitants of the adjacent village volunteered to accompany 
me as a guide, though such assistance was quite unnecessaty. 
The Tomb of Cyrus, being built of white stone, forms a most 
conspicuous landmark in the plain of Pasargade. It consists of 
a tectangular roofed chamber of extraordinary solidity, situated 
on a square platform approached on all sides by steep and lofty 
steps, up which one must climb, rather than walk, to reach the 
low entrance. The building bears no inscriptions in cuneiform 
ot Pahlavi characters, but numerous Musulm4n visitors have 
engraved their names on its walls and steps. I had hitherto 
imagined that the passion for leaving such memorials of one’s 
visit was peculiar to the West, and reached its highest develop- 
ment with the English and Americans; but not only the ruins 
of Pasargadz and Persepolis, but every post-house and caravan- 
satay in Persia, bear witness to the fact that this habit is hardly 
less rife amongst the Persians. De Sacy was, I think, the first to 
direct attention to these interesting relics of former travellers. 
Inthe presence of the ancient cuneiform characters, which carry us 
back to the time of the Achemenian kings, one is tempted to 
overlook them, though not a few of them date back to the earlier 
Muhammadan period. The longest of these inscriptions is situated 
on the wall to the right of one entering the mausoleum. This wall 


264 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


is adorned with a rude mibrdb (probably made by those who first 
conceived the idea of sanctifying the burial-place of the ancient 
fire-worshipping monarch by connecting it with the name of 
Solomon), on the lower portion of which is cut the word A//déh. 
This is surrounded by a long rectangular border raised into a 
subsidiary rectangle on the upper side to embrace the mzbrab, 
the whole length of which is occupied by a much-worn Arabic 
inscription, only legible in parts, beginning: “ In the Name of God 
the Merciful, the Clement. Verily we have opened unto thee a per- 
spicuous victory....”? At the left-hand lower corner of this border, 
close to the ground, is a Neo-Persian inscription in Arabic 
characters of an archaic type. Across the end of the chamber 
opposite to the door was hung a string, on which were suspended 
ribbons, pieces of cloth, beads, pipe-bowls, and other votive 
offerings brought by pious visitors to the shrine; and in the 
corner lay a copy of the Kwr’dn. 

Leaving the mausoleum, I turned to descend, examining the 
steps and the inscriptions cut on them on my way. Some of the 
stones bore mason’s marks similar to those referred to in speaking 
of the Takht-i-Suleymdn. Besides these there were a great many 
Neo-Persian inscriptions, mostly undated, or of comparatively 
recent date, some almost illegible, others as clear as though cut 
yesterday. 

Around the base of the steps is a small burial-ground strewn 
with fragments of other buildings which have perished. At its 
entrance are two long stones, propped one against the other in 
the shape of an inverted V, which form a sort of gate to the 
enclosure. Each of these is engraved on its inner surface with 
a line of Arabic in a fine bold character. The space left between 
the two stones is very narrow, and their surfaces are worn as 
smooth as glass by the passage of generations of pilgrims and 
visitors. These stones are supposed to be endowed with healing 
virtues, and my guide informed me that anyone bitten by a mad 
dog can be cured by crawling through the narrow interstice 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 265 


which separates them. To the faith of the people in this theory, 
if not to its truth, the high degree of polish on the inner surfaces 
of the stones in question bore witness. 

Turning at length with much reluctance from this interesting 
spot, I again mounted and rode forward, and, in a few minutes, 
quitted the plain and entered the splendid rocky defile through 
which the river Pulvar flows down towards Shiraz. This defile, 
with occasional widenings into fertile grassy valleys, continues 
to within two stages of Shiraz. There, a little beyond the post- 
house of Puzé, its rocky walls fall sharply away to the east and 
west as it enters the great plain of Marv-Dasht. At that point 
its width is three or four miles; in the rocks to the right are the 
tombs called by the Persians Naksh-i-Rustam; on the left, 
opposite to these, are the sculptures of Naksh-i-Rajab, the ruins 
of Istakhr, and just round the angle formed by the Kuh-i-Rahmat 
(“Mountain of Metcy’’) the stupendous temains of Persepolis, 
of which I shall shortly have to speak. 

This defile of the Pulvar offers some of the finest and most 
picturesque views in Persia: the rugged cliffs which hem it in 
on either side; the rushing river meandering through fertile 
meadows under the willows which fringe its banks; the fragrant 
shrubs and delicate flowers which, at this season, perfume the air 
and delight the eye; the gaily-plumaged hoopoes—the birds of 
Solomon—which dart through the clear sunny air; but most of 
all, perhaps, the memories of the glorious Past which every foot- 
step awakens, all combined to render this one of the most de- 
lightful parts of my journey. 

Soon after turning into the defile we ascended the rocks to 
the right for some distance, and entered the Sang-bur (“Rock- 
cutting’’), a passage two or three hundred yards in length, just 
wide enough to admit a man and horse, hewn out of the mountain 
side. While marvelling at this enduring triumph of the engineer- 
ing skill of ancient Persia, a vision arose in my mind’s eye of 
gorgeously apparelled horsemen spurring in hot haste with 


266 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


messages to or from the “Great King” through the Rock- 
cutting. I pictured to myself the white temples and lofty halls 
of Pasargade first bursting on their sight, and sighed inwardly 
as I thought of that departed splendour, and of the fickleness of 
fortune, which has taken away the very tomb of Cyrus from him 
to bestow it upon Solomon. 

Soon after leaving the Sang-bur I was stattled—almost fright- 
ened—by the sudden apparition of four or five armed men, who 
sprang out from behind a rock and barred my progress. The 
reports which I had heard of the disturbed state of Fars, the tur- 
bulence of its inhabitants, and the deeds of Riza Khan flashed 
through my mind; and I was in full expectation of a summons 
to sutrender my money or my life, when I was reassured by a 
humble request on the part of the spokesman of the party that 
I would be kind enough to “remember the poor tufankchi” who 
watched over the safety of the roads. I was so relieved that I 
readily gave him what he desired; and it was not till I had passed 
on, and these guardians of the peace had once more hidden 
themselves in their ambush, that I was struck by the ludicrous 
nature of the proceeding. Imagine policemen or sentinels in 
England hiding behind rocks and leaping out on the passing 
traveller to ask him for a “present” in recognition of their 
vigilance! 

About mid-day I halted in a pleasant meadow by the river for 
lunch. The infinitely-varied shades of green and red exhibited 
by the willows, just bursting into foliage, the emerald hue of the 
grass, and the pleasant murmur of the rushing river flowing past 
me, rendered the spot charming beyond all description. Haji 
Safar, whose spirits appeared to rise higher and higher as he 
drew nearer to Shiraz (for, whatever he may say, in his heart of 
hearts every Shirazi thinks his own native city incomparable 
and peerless), was in high good humour—a fact which always 
disclosed itself by his giving me a better meal than usual—and 
on this occasion he went so far as to kindle a fire and make some 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 267 


tea, which he brought me triumphantly when I had finished 
eating. 

Reluctantly quitting this delightful spot, we again continued 
on our way through scenery as varied as it was grand, and pre- 
sently passed through one of the wide cliff-girt valleys into which 
the Pulvar defile here and there expands. Here the rich pastures 
were dotted with groups of black tents belonging to the wander- 
ing tribes (¢/ydt) moving northward into the mountains, while 
their flocks of sheep and goats, tended by dark-eyed graceful 
shepherd boys, moved hither and thither over the plain. Leaving 
this happy valley we entered another defile, which brought us, 
a little before 6 p.m., to the village of Sivand, in which is situated 
the last telegraph station before Shiraz. Here I was received with 
the utmost kindness by Mr and Mrs Whittingback, whose little 
boy had ridden out to meet me some while before, for I was 
expected earlier. 

Next morning I did not start till about ten o’clock, being 
unwilling to leave the hospitable roof of my kind entertainers. 
The post-road to Shiraz continues on the left bank of the river, 
but as I wished to visit the inscriptions on the rocks above 
Haji-abad, which lies on the opposite side, we forded the stream, 
and followed the western bend of the valley, thus shortening our 
day’s match by nearly a parasang. Soon after mid-day the 
village of Haji-4bad came in sight, and, as I was uncertain as to 
the exact position of the inscriptions, I began carefully to scruti- 
nise the rocky cliffs to the right, in the hopes of discerning some 
trace of them. Presently I detected a small squarish hole hewn 
in the face of the rocks some distance up the side of one of the 
mountains (which at this point receded considerably from the 
road), and at once proceeded to scramble up to it. As usual, the 
clearness of the atmosphere led me to undertate the distance, 
and it was only after a long and hot climb that I finally reached 
the spot, where, to my disappointment, no inscription was visible 
—nothing but the shallow excavation, which in the distance 


268 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


looked like the mouth of a tunnel. For what purpose and by 
whom it was made I do not know, but I saw several similar 
excavations in the neighbourhood. Disappointed in my search, 
I again descended to the foot of the mountains, and continued 
my way along their base, eagerly scanning the rugged cliffs above 
me. I was much afraid that after all I might fail in discovering 
the object of my search, so numerous were the clefts, valleys, 
and ravines by which the mountains were indented and inter- 
sected at this point. Presently, however, I came to the opening 
of a wider valley, running straight up into the hills, where it 
divided into two small glens, which ascended to the right and 
left, to lose themselves in the mountain above. In the mouth of 
this valley were pitched two or three tents, near which a tribes- 
man was watching his grazing flock. Accosting him, I enquired 
whether he knew where the writing on the rocks was to be 
found. 

“Do you mean the writing or the sculptures?” he demanded. 

“The writing,” I answered; “I know that the sculptures are 
lower down the valley.” 

“And what do you want with the writing?” asked the shep- 
herd, suspiciously. “Can you read it?” 

“No,” I replied, “unfortunately I cannot; nevertheless I have 
heard that there are writings from the ancient time somewhere 
in these rocks, and I am desirous of seeing them.” 

“You can read them, I know very well,” said he, “and you 
hope to find treasures there; many Firangis come here seeking 
for treasures. However, if you must know, they are up there,” 
and he pointed up the valley. I wished to ask him in which 
bifurcation of the valley they were, but he had returned to 
his sheep, evidently disinclined to give me any further in- 
formation. 

There was nothing for it but to explore both of the gullies 
in question, and I began with the one to the right. It led me up 
into the heart of the mountain, and, after scrambling up amongst 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 269 


huge tugged boulders, I finally found myself at the mouth of a 
most gloomy-looking cavern, which appeared to tun straight 
into the hillside. From the rocks above and around the water 
dripped with a sullen plash; a few bones scattered on the ground 
irresistibly suggested the thought that I was in close proximity 
to the lair of some wild beast, and caused me instinctively to feel 
in my pocket for my revolver; while the silence and loneliness 
of the spot, whence I could not even see the road, being hemmed 
in on all sides by beetling rocks, made me in no wise sorry to 
retrace my steps as soon as I was well assured that the object of 
my seatch was not to be found here. 

I now proceeded to explore the other ravine, which, if less 
gloomy, was hardly less imposing than that which I had just 
quitted. As I ascended, its sides grew steeper and steeper, until, 
approaching one another more and mote closely, they terminated 
in sheer precipices. At this point several huge boulders lay at 
their feet, seeming to bar all further progress, and I was beginning 
to doubt the advisability of trying to proceed farther, when, 
raising my eyes to the rocks on the right, I espied, some distance 
up, a long depression, looking dark in the sunshine, on the wall 
of which I thought I could discern a prepared tablet of cruciform 
shape. Hastily ascending to this, I perceived with joy that my 
conjecture was right. On the tock forming the back of this 
hollow was a prepared surface, shaped roughly like a cross with 
very thick limbs, along the transverse length of which were four 
tablets hewn in the mountain face. Of these tablets the two 
situated to the left were bare, having apparently never received 
the inscriptions for which they were destined; but each of the 
other two bote an inscription of some length in Pahlavi char- 
actets. The inscriptions in question have been fully treated of 
by Haug in his admirable Essay on the Pahlavi Language, and it 
is therefore unnecessary for me to say more of them in this 
place than that one of them is in Sdsanian, and the other in 
Chaldzo-Pahlavi; that both belong to the reign of Shapur I, 


270 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


the son of Ardashir Babakan, the founder of the dynasty; and 
that consequently they date from the third century of the 
Christian era. 

Having satisfied my curiosity, I returned to Haji Safar, who 
was awaiting me with the horses in the road, and we proceeded 
in a straight line towards the village of Zangavar (situated on the 
same side of the river as Haji-abad, nearer the end of the valley), 
where I proposed to halt for the following day, as it forms the 
best starting-point for visiting Persepolis and the rock-sepulchres 
of Naksh-i-Rustam. Our progress was, however, soon checked 
by innumerable streams and ditches, and we were compelled to 
return to the road skirting the base of the mountains on the 
western side of the valley. Annoying as this delay at first ap- 
peared, it was in truth a most fortunate occurrence, for, while 
looking about for signs of a path which would lead us more 
directly to our goal, I suddenly caught sight of a large cruciform 
excavation on the face of the rock, which I at once recognised, 
from the descriptions I had read and the sketches I had seen, 
as one of the tombs of Naksh-i-Rustam, on which I had thus 
unexpectedly chanced. Haji Safar seemed scarcely so well 
pleased as I was, for he well knew that this discovery would 
involve a further delay, and, as the day had now turned cold and 
windy, he would doubtless fain have reached the halting-place 
as soon as possible. Since an hour or two of daylight still re- 
mained, however, it was obviously out of the question to waste 
it; and as I knew that the morrow would be all too short fully 
to explore the wonders of Persepolis, I was anxious to get a clear 
impression of the monuments which so thickly beset this angle 
of the valley. 

Accordingly I spent about an hour in examining and taking 
notes of these—a delightful hour, which passed only too quickly. 
The monuments in question are well-known to all travellers and 
antiquarians, and have been fully described in many books, so 
I shall content myself with merely enumerating them. 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 271 


They are as follows:— 

(i) Four tock-sepulchres dating from Achemenian times. 
Externally, these present the appearance of crosses cut in the 
rock, with limbs equal in length and about half as wide as they 
ate long. The aperture affording access to the inner gallery (which 
corresponds to the horizontal limbs of the cross in length, height, 
and position) is near the centre. Of the interior I shall have to 
speak shortly. Two pillars carved out of the rock stand on either 
side of this aperture, which is forty or fifty feet above the ground. 
The upper limb of the cross is adorned with sculptured symbols, 
amongst which a fire-altar surmounted by a crescent moon, a 
priest engaged in devotional exercises, and, over all, the winged 
figure girt with the symbol of infinity, which forms so constant 
a feature in the Achemenian tombs, are most conspicuous. 

(ii) Six tablets bearing inscriptions and bas-reliefs of Sasanian 
workmanship. Close to the first of these (proceeding from the 
north southwards) is a modern Persian inscription!, bearing the 
date A.H. 1127 (A.D. 1715), which is already almost as much 
defaced as the Sasdnian inscriptions by the side of which it stands, 
and far mote so than the exquisite cuneiform of the Acheme- 
nians. Of the six Sdsdnian tablets, most of which are com- 
memotative of victories over the Romans, and one or.two of 
which bear long Pahlavi inscriptions, the frst is adjacent to the 
Neo-Petsian inscription noticed above, and stands about half-way 
between the first and second rock-tombs, but close to the 


1 This is not the only place where the kings of modern Persia have adopted 
this time-honoured means of perpetuating their fame. A similar tablet, bear- 
ing a bas-relief of the king on horseback spearing a lion, as well as a Neo- 
Persian inscription (also barely legible), may be seen in the rocks to the north 
of what is generally regarded as the site of Rey, near Teheran. I believe that 
it was cut by order of Fath-‘Ali Shah. Another and a much better tablet, 
containing, besides a Persian inscription, bas-relief portraits of Nasiru’d-Din 
Shah (by whose command it was cut) surrounded by his ministers, forms a 
conspicuous object on the rocks above the admirably-constructed new road 
leading through Mazandaran from the capital to Amul, about two stages 
south of the latter town. This will be further noticed in its proper place. 


272 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


ground; the second is placed under the second rock-tomb; the 
third between the second and third rock-tombs; the fourth under 
the fourth rock-tomb; and the fifth and sixth, one above the 
other, just before the angle formed by the falling away of the 
cliffs to the west where the valley enters the plain of Marv-Dasht. 

(iii) Opposite the last rock-tomb, on the other side of the road 
(which runs close to the face of the cliff), is a square building of 
very solid construction, bearing some resemblance to the Tomb 
of Cyrus. This can be entered by climbing without much 
difficulty. It is called by the villagers Ka‘ba-i-Zardtusht (“the 
Caaba of Zoroaster”’). 

(iv) On a summit of the rocks which form the angle of the 
valley is a cylindrical pillar about five feet high, sunk in a socket 
cut to teceive it. This is called Dasta-i-Piré-Zan (“the Old 
Woman’s Pestle’’). 

(v) Beyond the angle formed by the junction of the Pulvar 
valley with the Marv-Dasht, and consequently concealed from 
the sight of one standing in the former, are two altars, each 
about four and a half feet high, hewn out of the solid rock. These 
ate well described and figured by Ker Porter. 

The above list comprises all the remains included by the 
Persians under the name “‘Naksh-i-Rustam,” and, with the ex- 
ception of a brief description of the interior of one of the rock- 
tombs which I shall shortly attempt, I shall say no more about 
them, since they have been exhaustively described by many writers 
far more competent in this matter than myself. 

While engaged in examining the Naksh-i-Rustam, we were 
joined by a villager who had been collecting a plant called kangar 
in the mountains. Some of this he gave to Haji Safar, who 
cooked it for my supper. It is by no means unsavoury, and 
resembles celery more than anything else I can think of. This 
villager proved to be a native of Zangavar, the village whither 
we were bound; and on learning that I proposed to spend the 
morrow there, so as to explore the antiquities in the neighbour- 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 273 


hood, he offered to obtain the help of one or two other men 
who, by means of a rope, would haul me up to the platform of 
the rock-tombs, so as to enable me to examine its interior. 

As the gathering dusk warned me that I must postpone 
further explorations till the morrow, I regretfully turned my 
back on the Naksh-i-Rustam, and, after a ride of fifteen or 
twenty minutes, reached the large straggling village of Zangavar. 
Here I was informed that the Kedkhudd (chief man of the 
village), apprised by the muleteer of my arrival, had assigned 
quarters to me in the /akyé consecrated to the Muharram 
passion-plays. Proceeding thither, I found a clean and com- 
forttable room set apart for me, in which I had hardly installed 
myself when the Kedkhudd in person, accompanied by one or 
two friends, came to pay his respects. He was a nice old man, 
very courteous and kindly in his manners, and we had a long 
conversation, of which the antiquities in the neighbourhood 
formed the principal topic. He told me that a little while ago two 
Frenchmen (working for M. Dieulafoy) had been engaged for 
some time in making plans and taking photographs of Persepolis 
and the Naksh-i-Rustam, in front of which they had erected a 
sott of scaffold (wanjanik) the better to reach its upper part. They 
had lodged in this village; but, the Kedkhudd complained, had 
been very unsociable and reticent, refusing to allow the people 
to watch their work or see their photographs and sketches. 

This subject exhausted, the Kedkbudd began to question me 
concerning our religion, and to ask me whether I had heard of 
the European doctor who had recently embraced the Muham- 
madan faith at Shiraz. I answered that I had read about his 
conversion in a Persian newspaper which I had seen at Isfahan, 
and that I was very desirous of conversing with him, so that I 
might learn the reasons which had led him to abandon his own 
creed in favour of Islam. 

“Perhaps you, too,” said the Kedkbudd, “will, by the grace of 
God, be brought to believe in the religion of our Prophet. You 


B 18 


274 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


have come to see our country from afar; do not, like the majority 
of the Firangis, occupy yourself with nothing but dumb stones, 
vessels of brass, tiles, and fabrics; contemplate the world of ideas 
rather than the world of form, and seek for Truth rather 
than for curiosities. Why should you not even pay a visit to the 
-most holy tombs of our Imams at Kerbela and Nejef? There you 
might see the miracles whereby they prove to all that they still 
live and rule.” 

“Gladly would I do as you advise,” I replied, “‘and I trust 
that I am not so bigoted as to refuse fairly to consider whatever 
proofs can be adduced in favour of your religion. Unfortunately, 
however, your countrymen and co-religionists, so far from 
offering any facilities to ‘unbelievers’ for witnessing the miracles 
whereby, as you say, the Ima4ms continue to manifest their power 
and presence to the world, would drive me from their shrines 
like a dog if I attempted to approach them, even as they did at 
the shrine of Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim. Surely they act most unwisely 
in this matter; for if, as you say, miracles are there wrought, they 
must be intended not so much for those who believe as for those 
who doubt, and who might be convinced thereby.” 

“You are perhaps right,” said the Kedkhudd, after a moment’s 
reflection, “‘yet still I would urge you to make the attempt, even 
if you must disguise yourself as a Persian to do so. It would be 
a pity that you should come here at so much trouble and expense, 
and should take back nothing with you but a collection of those 
curiosities and antiquities with which your people seem for the 
most part to be so strangely infatuated.” So saying, the Ked- 
khudd took his departure and left me to myself. 

Although I was up in good time next day, all eagerness to make 
the best use of an opportunity which I should in all probability 
never again enjoy, I was delayed in starting for some time by a 
crowd of people who, hearing that I possessed some medical 
knowledge, desired to consult me about their various disorders; 
and it was not till nine o’clock that I finally left the village, 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 275 


accompanied by the villager whom I had met on the previous 
day, two younger men provided with ropes, and a little boy who 
enlivened the way with his childish prattle. Arrived opposite 
the Naksh-i-Rustam, my guides advanced to the second rock- 
tomb, which is somewhat nearer the ground than the others, 
and more readily accessible. One of them climbed up the rocks 
with marvellous agility to the narrow platform which crosses 
the entrance. He then let down the rope, by the aid of which 
the others followed him. The rope was again lowered, I bound 
it firmly round my waist, and, not without sundry bumps and 
abrasions, was hauled up to where they stood. 

Entering the tomb by the low doorway opening on to this 
ledge or platform, I found myself in a long gallery corresponding 
to the transverse limb of the cross carved on the face of the rock. 
This gallery was twenty-seven paces in length from end to end, 
three paces in width, and perhaps twenty feet in height. On the 
side opposite to the entrance, four rectangular recesses are hewn 
out of the rock, the width of each being about four and a half 
paces. The floors of these are not level with the ground, but raised 
some threefeet above it. Out of each of these floors are hewn three 
parallel tombs or sarcophagi, their greatest length being parallel 
to the gallery, and consequently transverse to the recess in which 
they lie. These sarcophagi were, of course, empty (except for 
some débris of stones and rubbish), and their coverings had been 
destroyed or removed. 

On completing my examination of the tomb and descending 
to the ground, I found a small knot of people collected. These 
asked me whether I could tread the inscriptions, and would 
hardly believe my assertion that I was unable to do so, asking 
me if I were not a “mulld.” Indeed, one or two appeared to 
imagine that they were written in my own language, or in one 
of the languages of Firangistan. 

We now struck across the valley towards Persepolis—“‘ TakAt- 
-Jamshid” (“the Throne of Jamshid’’), as it is called by the 


18-2 


276 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


Persians—fording the river Pulva4r, and passing a square stone 
platform on its further side, called “Takht-2-Tda’ds” (“the 
Peacock Throne’’). Following the eastern side of the valley 
for a short distance, we presently turned the corner formed by 
its junction with the great plain of Marv-Dasht, and all at once 
‘there burst on my wondering gaze the stupendous ruins of 
Persepolis. 

Of the ruins of Pasargade, the Tomb of Cyrus, and the rock- 
sepulchres of Naksh-i-Rustam I have attempted to set down 
some description, however meagre. In the case of Persepolis 
it would be vain to make this attempt, since the three or four 
hours during which I wandered through its deserted halls, trod 
its silent stairs, and gazed in admiration, such as I have seldom 
before experienced, on the endless succession of lofty columns, 
giant statues, and delicate traceries (whose beauty long ages, 
kinder than the besotted Macedonian who first stretched forth 
his impious hand against them, have scarcely marred), were 
hardly sufficient to enable me to do more than wonder and 
admire. To study Persepolis would require months; to describe 
it, volumes. It has already been studied and described by others 
fat more competent than myself. All that I shall do, then, is to 
notice certain minor details which happened to strike me. 

On the stones of Persepolis, as on the monuments which I 
have already noticed, a host of travellers of many ages and many 
nations have carved their names, their sentiments, and their 
reflections, by the side of the ancient cuneiform inscriptions. 
Only, by as much as Persepolis exceeds all the other ruins in 
extent and splendour, by so much do these memorials exceed 
all the rest in number and interest. The two great stone lions 
which guard the entrance of the eastern hall, and the adjacent 
walls, seem to have been the favourite spots. Amongst the 
European names recorded here, those of Malcolm and his suite, 
carved in large bold Roman characters, are most conspicuous; 
while, amidst the remainder, cut or written in every possible 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 277 


fashion, the names of not a few distinguished travellers are to be 
found. The sense of admiration and awe with which the place 
inspired me made me feel that to follow their example would 
be almost a profanation, and I turned to examine the similar 
memorials left by Musulman visitors. 

Many of these consisted, like their European congeners, of 
mete names and dates, and to these I paid but little attention. 
Here and there, however, a few lines of poetry, or a reflection 
on the transitoriness of earthly glory in Arabic or Persian, showed 
me that the same feeling of mixed awe and sadness with which 
the place inspired me had affected others. Some of these in- 
scriptions were not devoid of grace and beauty, and I could not 
help thinking that, if one must leave a token of one’s visit to such 
a spot, these records of the solemn feelings evoked thereby were 
mote seemly and more congruous than aught else. As a specimen 
of their tenour I append translations of two, both in Arabic: 
one in prose, one in verse. 

The first was written in A.H. 1206 (A.D. 1791-2) by a son of 
Shah-Rukh Mirz4, and runs as follows:— 

“Where are the proud monarchs of yore? They multiplied treasures which endured | 
not, neither did they endure.” 

The second consists of four lines of poetry, attributed by the 
catver to “Ali, the successor of the Prophet:— 

“Where are the kings who exercised dominion 

Until the cup-bearer of Death gave them to drink of his cup? 


How many cities which have been built betwixt the horizons 
Lay ruined in the evening, while their dwellers were in the abode of death?” 


This was cut by “Ali ibn Sultan Khalid ibn Sultan Khusraw. 

In one of the windows a stone was pointed out to me, so 
highly polished that I could clearly see therein my reflection 
as in a mirror. Here and there excavations have laid bare long- 
buried chambers. Some of these excavations were undertaken 
by the command of Ferhad Mirza, the Shah’s uncle—less, I fear, 
from a disinterested love of antiquarian research than from a 


278 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


hope of finding treasure, which, according to the universal belief 
of the Persians (based, perhaps, on traditions embodied in 
Fitdawsi’s Book of Kings), is concealed in the neighbourhood. My 
guides assured me that a large “brick” or ingot of solid gold had 
actually been discovered, and that it had been sent to Teheran, 
where it was preserved in the treasury of the Shah. They also 
pointed out to me the spot where Ferhad Mirza had caused 
some delinquent to be hanged over the parapet of the great 
terrace. 

It was sad to note how in many places the faces of such bas- 
reliefs and figures as could be reached from the ground had been 
wilfully defaced by fanaticism or ignorance, while many of the 
- animals carved on the walls and staircases had been made the 
targets of marksmen, as witnessed by the numerous bullet-marks 
which they bore. But in all cases, so far as I saw, the winged 
genius gitt with the girdle typifying infinity, which, looking 
forth from almost every column and cornice, seemed to watch 
still over the cradle of Persia’s greatness, had escaped uninjured. 

On teaching the edge of the platform next the mountain from 
the face of which it is built out, two sepulchres on the hillside 
above attracted my attention, and I was making towards them 
when I suddenly espied two figures approaching me. The pith 
hat worn by one stamped him at once as a European, and I, 
thinking that it must be my friend and late fellow-traveller, 
H , hastened forward to meet him. A neater approach, 
however, showed that I was mistaken. The wearer of the pith 
hat proved to be an English officer who had been staying for 
some days in Shiraz on his homeward road from India. He was 
now bound for Teheran, and thence for England by way of 
Russia. From him I learned that H had posted up to 
Persepolis and back to Shiraz a day or two before, and that he 
had probably already set out for Bushire. After a short conversa- 
tion we separated, and I proceeded to examine the tombs above 
mentioned, which, in general plan, closely resemble the sepulchres 








FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 279 


of Naksh-i-Rustam, with this important difference, that being 
situated on a sloping hillside, instead of on the face of a cliff, 
they ate entered without difficulty, the inner floor being level 
with the ground outside. Besides this, they only contain two 
sarcophagi apiece, and a single recess, which is vaulted instead 
of being rectangular. 

Short as the time had seemed to me, symptoms of impatience 
began to manifest themselves in my guides. Although it was not 
yet four o’clock, they declared that the lateness of the hour made 
it advisable to withdraw from this solitary spot, lest robbers, 
tempted from their hiding-places in the mountains by the ap- 
proach of night, should waylay us. Without attaching much 
credence to their representations I was forced to yield to them, 
and, with many a backward glance of regret, to turn my back on 
Persepolis. On the way back to the village I lingered for a while 
to examine the Sdsanian bas-reliefs of Naksh-i-Rajab, which are 
situated in a little hollow on the mountain side just behind the 
post-house of Puzé, and attempted to transcribe the Greek in- 
scription of Shapur I, which afforded the key whereby the 
mysteries of the anomalous and ambiguous Pahlavi tongue were 
first unlocked. 

Next morning I quitted Zangavar, and again turned my face 
southwards. Our departure was greatly delayed by a crowd of 
sick people seeking medical advice, and, even when we at length 
escaped from these, an unwise attempt to take a short cut towards 
the main road resulted in a further loss of time. All the morning 
out coutse lay across the flat marshy plain of Marv-Dasht—a vast 
amphitheatre, surrounded by mountains of which some of those 
to the west assume the wildest shapes. Amongst these one, on 
which the ruins of an ancient fortress are said still to exist, is 
conspicuous for its precipitous and apparently inaccessible sum- 
mit. The day was cold and cloudy with some rain, a state of things 
which rendered travelling over the naturally moist and marshy 
plain rather unpleasant. I was surprised, at this distance from the 


280 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


sea, to observe a number of gulls. They are called by the Persians 
Murgh-i-Nawrizi (“New Yeat’s Bird”’), so that their appearance 
(which is, perhaps, limited to this season) was very appropriate; 
fot we wete now within a day of that most ancient and most 
popular festival, the feast of the New Year (‘Id-i-Nawriz), 
whereby the Persians have, from time immemorial, celebrated 
the advent of spring. | 

About mid-day we reached the end of the plain and entered 
another valley, in which we presently came to a great sheet of 
water, stretching away to the east towards the Band-i-Amir'. 
This is traversed by a stone causeway, and swarms with a variety 
of waterfowl. Leaving this behind, and bending somewhat to 
the left towards the mountains which form the eastern limit of 
the valley, we reached Zargan, our last stage before Shiraz, about 
dusk. 

During the morning we had passed eight or ten horsemen, 
whose arrogant bearing and unprovoked incivility proclaimed 
them servants of the ex-governor; and while passing the sheet 
of water above mentioned we had heard numerous shots in the 
surrounding hills and on the borders of the lake, which testified 
to the presence of a party of sportsmen. Rumour had, moreover, 
apprised us of the fact that Prince Jalalu’d-Dawla (the son of 
the fallen Prince Zillu’s-Sultan, and the nominal governor of 
Shiraz), as well as the aged Sahib-Divan, the virtual governor, 
had quitted the city, in which they had no excuse for remaining 
longer, and were on their way northwards to the capital with a 
large company of followers and retainers. On reaching Zargan 
it was, therefore, with more annoyance than surprise that I 
found the whole town filled with the soldiers and servants of 
the young prince and his minister. Enquiries for lodgings were 
evetywhere met with the same reply, that there was not a room 
to be had for love or money in the place; and it was only after 


1 The “Bendemeer’s stream” of the poet Moore. Its name signifies “the 
Amir’s Dyke.” 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 281 


a protracted search through every part of the town that I was 
fortunate enough to secure a lodging for the night in a small 
room which served during the day as a weavet’s shop. While the 
implements of the owner’s craft were being removed, I was 
scrutinised with sullen curiosity by a small knot of villagers, over 
whose spirits the presence of the soldiers appeared to have cast 
a gloom which rendered them silent and abstracted. 

And here at Zargan I was like to have suffered yet graver 
trouble, and came near perishing, as Haji Safar poetically ob- 
setved, “‘like a moth consumed in the candle of Shiraz,” ere ever 
I set eyes on that beautiful and classical city. For while, according 
to my wont, I lay smoking and treading in my camp-bed before 
composing myself to sleep, slumber overtook me unawares, and 
I lost all consciousness of my surroundings till I suddenly awoke 
with a sense of suffocation and contact with something hot. A 
moment’s examination showed me that the quilt on which I lay 
was smouldering and aglow with sparks. I immediately sprang 
up and dragged it on to the ground, when I found the mischief 
to be much more extensive than I had imagined, at least a third 
of its lower fold being in a state of ignition. Having neither 
water nor light at my disposal, I was compelled to awaken Haji 
Safar, who was sleeping outside on the ground; and our united 
efforts soon succeeded in extinguishing the flames, but not till 
the greater part of the quilt had been consumed. Neither was 
this the only mischief done, for my coat and waistcoat had both 
suffered in greater or less degree, while the smoke and steam 
produced by the conflagration and its extinction filled the room, 
and rendered the atmosphere well nigh unbearable. I was 
thankful enough, however, to have escaped so lightly from the 
effects of my own carelessness, and, leaving the door open, and 
rolling myself up as best I could in the remnants of my bedding, 
was soon asleep again. Haji Safar, who, though at times self- 
willed and refractory, was never wanting in time of need, in- 
sisted, in spite of my remonstrances, in covering me with his 


282 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


cloak, which he could ill spare (the night being chilly), so that I 
enjoyed a greater measure of comfort than I deserved. 

When I awoke in the morning all recollections of the disaster 
of the previous night were obliterated by the joyous thought that 
before the sun was down I should set foot in that city which, for 
seven yeats, it had been the chief ambition of my life to behold. 
Leaving Zargan, we had first to strike out into the plain to join 
the main road (remarkable for its excessive stoniness), which, 
crossing over a low pass, brought us to a building called Baj-gah 
(“the Toll-House”’), where customs’ dues were formerly levied. 
I was surprised at the number of travellers whom we met—mote, 
I think, than on any previous day’s march since we quitted 
Trebizonde. Many of these were servants or messengers of 
the old or the new administration, but at all times the traffic 
between Zargan and Shiraz seems to be considerable. Beyond 
this there was little to attract my interest till, about 1.30, on 
surmounting another pass, Haji Safar cried out “ Rakudbdd! Ruk- 
ndbdd!” and, with a thrill of pleasure, I found myself at the source 
of that stream, so dear to every Shirazi, of which Hafiz declared, 
in perhaps the best known of his poems, that Paradise itself could 
not boast the like. 

But for the rich associations which the ete of it evoked 
in my mind, I might perhaps have experienced that sense of 
disappointment with which Vambéry declares he was affected 
by the first view of this classic stream. As it was, I saw nothing 
but the limpid water rushing from its rocky source; heard 
nothing but its melodious ripple; thought nothing but those 
thoughts which rise in the mind of one who first stands in the 
favourite haunt of an immortal bard who immortalises all that 
he touches. One often hears the expression, “I had heard so 
much of such-and-such a thing that when I saw it I was quite 
disappointed.” This may happen in the case of objects admired 
ot loved only for themselves, but not of those endeared by their 
associations. One does not love Hafiz because he wrote. of 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 283 


Ruknabad: one loves Ruknabad because it was written of by 
Hafiz. 

In this pleasant spot I tarried for about an hour, eating my 
lunch under the shadow of one of the trees which stand by the 
edge of the stream. Again setting out, we came in about an 
hour to a building called Khi/‘at-pushi, where, as its name implies, | 
governors of Shiraz, honoured by receiving such a distinction 
from the Shah, come out to meet the bearers of the royal favours, 
and are invested with the robe of honour. Shortly after passing 
this spot we perceived a horseman advancing towards us, who 
proved to be the chief servant of my host, the Nawwab Mirza 
Haydar ‘Ali Khan. After presenting the Nawwab’s compli- 
ments and regrets that he had been unable himself to come out 
to welcome me by treason of the multitudinous social duties in- 
cidental to the Nawr#z, the servant turned his horse’s head and 
led the way towards the city. We were, I gathered, quite close 
to it now, and I was so full of expectancy that I had but little 
inclination to talk. Suddenly we turned a corner, and in that 
moment—a moment of which the recollection will never fade 
from my mind—there burst upon my delighted gaze a view the 
like of which (in its way) I never saw. 

We were now at that point, known to all students of Hafiz, 
called Tang-i-Allihu Akbar, because whoever first beholds 
Shiraz hence is constrained by the exceeding beauty of the sight 
to cty out in admiration “AMdhu Akbar”—“God is most 
great!” At our very feet, in a grassy, fertile plain girt with 
purple hills (on the loftier summits of which the snow still 
lingered), and half concealed amidst gardens of dark stately 
cyptesses, wherein the rose and the judas-tree in luxuriant 
abundance struggled with a host of other flowers for the mastery 
of colour, sweet and beautiful in its garb of spring verdure 
which clothed the very roofs of the bazaars, studded with many 
a slender minaret, and many a turquoise-hued dome, lay the 
home of Persian culture, the mother of Persian genius, the 


284 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


sanctuaty of poetry and philosophy, Shiraz. Riveted on this, 
and this alone, with an awe such as that wherewith the pilgrim 
approaches the shrine, with a delight such as that wherewith 
the exile again beholds his native land, my eyes scarcely marked 
the remoter beauties of the scene—the glittering azure of Lake 
Mahalu to the east, the interminable gardens of Masjid-Bardi 
to the west. Words cannot describe the rapture which overcame 
me as, after many a weaty march, I gazed at length on the reality 
of that whereof I had so long dreamed, and found the reality 
not merely equal to, but far surpassing, the ideal which I had 
conceived. It is seldom enough in one’s life that this occurs. 
When it does, one’s innermost being is stirred with an emotion 
which baffles description, and which the most eloquent words 
can but dimly shadow forth. 

From the Tang-i-Allahu Akbar the road runs broad and 
straight to the gate of the city, to reach which a wide and well- 
built bridge spanning a river-bed (which, even in spring, contains 
comparatively little water except after heavy showers, and 
which in summer must be almost dry) is crossed. Descending 
this toad, which at this festal season was enlivened by hundreds 
of pleasute-seekers, who, dressed in their 'best, had come out 
from the city to enjoy the fragrance of the air and the beauty 
of the fields, we first passed under the arch, in a chamber over 
which is preserved the great “Kur’4n of 17 maunds” (Kur’dn-i- 
hafdah mant), whereof it is fabled that a single leaf, if removed, 
would weigh as much as the whole volume. Lower down, just 
to the right of the road, Musalla, another favourite haunt of 
Hafiz, was pointed out to me. The building which at present 
stands there is quite modern, and the “rose-walks,”’ on which 
Hafiz dwells so lovingly, have disappeared. To the left of the 
toad were the gardens of Jdn-numd, Dil-gushd, Chahil-tan and 
Haft-tan; beyond these were visible the cypresses which over- 
shadow the grave of Hafiz; while farther still the tomb of Sa‘di 
could just be discerned. To the right lay a multitude of other 


FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 285 


gardens of less note; everywhere the fresh grass clothed the plain 
with a robe of verdure such as is seen but rarely in Persia; while 
the soft spring air was laden with the perfume of a thousand 
flowers. I ceased to wonder at the rapturous enthusiasm where- 
with the Shirazi speaks of his native city, or to regard as an 
exaggeration far removed from the truth that verse of Sa‘di’s 
which I have already quoted:— 
“ Khashd tafarruj-i-Nawriz, khdssé dar Shiraz, 
Ki bar kanad dil-i-mard-i-musdfir ax watanash.” 

“Pleasant is the New Yeat’s outing, especially in Shiraz, 

Which turns aside the heart of the wanderer from his native land.” 
Nay, in these “meadows set with slender galingale,” in this 
“land where all things always seemed the same,” I felt con- 
strained to “‘fold my wings, and cease from wanderings”; almost 
as though a voice from the unseen had whispered them, there 
sounded in my ears the lines— 

“Our island home 
Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam.” 

A little before reaching the bridge which leads to the Isfahan 
gate, we turned to the right, and continued outside the city wall 
till we came to the “Gate of the King’s Garden” (Derwdzé-z- 
Badgh-i-Shab), by which we entered. A short ride through the 
natrow, tortuous streets brought us at length to the house of 
my host, the Nawwab. Dismounting at the gate, I was ushered 
into a large and handsome courtyard paved with stones and 
traversed by a little stream of clear water which flowed from a 
large square tank at the upper end. On either side of this stood 
a tow of stately sycamotes, interspersed with orange-trees, while 
a mass of beautiful flowers tastefully grouped lent brightness to 
the view and fragrance to the air. 

As I stood here the Nawwab himself came out to welcome 
me with that easy courtesy and unaffected hospitality wherein 
the Persians excel all other nations. Taking me by the hand, he 
led me into a room opening into the courtyard, where, as is 


286 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 


customary at the New Year, and for the twelve days which 
succeed it (during which all work is laid aside, and paying and 
receiving congratulatory visits is the sole business of all), a 
multitudinous array of all manner of sweetmeats was laid out. 
The samavar (urn) hissing in a corner gave promise of the welcome 
tea, which did not delay to make its appearance. After I had 
pattaken of two or three cups of this, and answered the usual 
questions concerning the friends I had left at Teheran, the 
journey, and my health, the Nawwa4b rose and conducted me to 
the rooms which, at the special request of his elder brother, the . 
Nawwab Mirza Hasan ‘Ali Khan (in whose house at Teheran 
I had spent so pleasant and profitable a month), had been set 
apart for me. Pleasant and commodious as they were, and 
luxurious as they seemed after the hardships of the road, their 
chief charm in my eyes was that they had given shelter to poets 
whose names form the brightest ornament of modern Persian 
literature—poets amongst whom in sweetness, melody, wealth 
of metaphor, and purity of diction, the brilliant genius of K4’ani 
stands unrivalled and unsurpassed. 








CHAPTER X 


SHIRAZ 


“ Dil mt-barand Kazvinidn, shakar-laband Tabrizidn, 
Khuband Isfahdnidn, man banda-am Shiraz-rd.” 
“The Kazvinis steal our hearts, the Tabrizis have lips like sugar, 
Beautiful are the Isfahanis, but I am the slave of Shiraz.” 
“ Khusha Shirdz u vaz‘-i-bi-misal-ash! 
Khuddvandd, nigah dar az zawdl-ash!” 


“Sweet is Shiraz and its incomparable site! 
O God, preserve it from decline! ””—(HAFiz.) 


O the three weeks which I spent in Shiraz I look back with 

unmixed pleasure. The associations connected with it are 
familiar to every student of Persian; its natural beauties I have 
already feebly attempted to depict; its inhabitants are, amongst 
all the Persians, the most subtle, the most ingenious, the most 
vivacious, even as their speech is to this day the purest and most 
melodious. 

For seeing all that was most worth seeing, mixing in the 
society of the town, and forming an estimate of its life and 
thought, I enjoyed rare facilities. Living as I did in the heart 
of the city, in the house of one universally respected, not merely 
as the representative of an ancient and noble family, but as a 
gentleman whose genial manners, enlightened views, and liberal 
patronage of talent, rendered him peculiarly fitted for the 
responsible post which he occupied of Agent to the British 
Government, I was enabled to move freely in circles to which 
I might otherwise have failed to gain access. For acquiring 
fluency in the Persian language also I had continual opportu- 
nities. My host, it is true, possessed some knowledge of English, 


288 SHIRAZ 


but preferred to employ his own language in conversation; a 
pteference which, it is needless to say, I was far from regretting; 
while few of the visitors, and none of the servants, with whom I 
came into daily contact, spoke anything but Persian. 

Although the visitors who came to the house were numerous, 
there was, except my host (with whom, when no other engage- 
ment prevented it, I took my meals), but one constant guest at 
table. This was the Nawwab’s uncle, “Ha Da’? (“Uncle 
Haji’), as he was usually called for the sake of brevity, who had 
come from Fasa (where he habitually resided) to Shiraz on a 
New Yeat’s visit. For him I conceived, after a while, a great 
liking and admiration, though at first unable to penetrate his 
unusual taciturnity. Except in this respect, he was a thorough 
Persian of the old school, in dress as in everything else, and I was 
never tited of admiring the scrupulous neatness of his appear- 
ance, ot the beautiful brocade lining revealed by the backward 
turn of the cuffs of his kabd. As I have already said, he was 
sparing of words, but when he spoke it was to the point; while 
the interesting details concerning the country east of Shiraz 
which at times he would give me were enhanced by a peculiar 
piquancy of idiom and expressiveness of gesture which I have 
never seen equalled. Thus, for example, in speaking of the 
length of a stage between two places near Kum he remarked, 
“They call it seven farsakhs, but such a seven farsakhs as would 
burn the father of nine farsakhs” (“hamchunin haf’ farsakhi ki 
pidar-i-nuh farsakh-rd bi-sizdnad”); in answering my question as 
to whether the water in Lake Niriz was fresh or salt, he said, 
“So salt that I take refuge with God!” (“‘chundn talkh ki penah 
bar Khudd!’’); neither shall I ever forget the tone of the “ Estagh- 
jirw dh!” (ask pardon of God!”’) with which, in true Persian 
fashion, he would answer any question which he wished emphati- 
cally to negative. 

Besides Haji Da’i there was but one of the Nawwab’s relatives 
resident in the house whom I often saw (for from the society of 


SHIRAZ 289 


his sisters and other female relations I was naturally excluded), 
This was the son of my friend Ak4é Muhammad Hasan Khan 
Kashka’i, who, when he bade me farewell at Teheran, had 
specially commended his boy to my notice. The latter, who was 
also the Naww4b’s nephew, came to pay me a visit a day or two 
after my arrival. He was a bright handsome lad of about twelve 
ot thirteen years of age, and, though rather shy at first, soon 
became very friendly, and would eagerly listen to anything 
which I told him about my native land or my travels. 

Of the Nawwab’s numerous servants one or two deserve some 
brief mention. Of these the chief was he who had come out to 
meet me on my first arrival, and who was indeed rather a steward 
than a servant. He had a brother, Shukru’llah by name, who 
played with exquisite skill on the rebeck (s7-/dr), to the accom- 
paniment of which he would also sing in a sweet melodious 
voice. The poor fellow was blind, and I shall never forget the 
pathos of his tones when, as I was seated one evening with the 
Nawwab and a chance guest by the side of the stream in the 
courtyard under the moonlit plane-trees, he heard the former 
address me in an interval of the music as “Hakim Sdbib,” and 
eagerly exclaimed, “‘Hak/m! did you say hakim, Master? Is our 
guest a physician? Can he not perhaps cure my blindness and 
enable me once mote to behold the light?” And when the 
Nawwab answered gently, ““No, my poor fellow, he is a meta- 
physician (bakim-i-ildhi) rather than a physician (bakim-z-tabi‘t) ; 
he can do nothing for you,” it went to my heart to see the 
momentaty expression of anxious hope which had crossed the 
face of the blind minstrel pass, through a quiver of disappoint- 
ment, into the look of patient sadness which his countenance 
habitually wore. 

Of all the servants, however, he with whom I had most to do, 
and indeed the only one with whom I habitually conversed 
much, was a black called E/mds (“Diamond”). He had been in 
the family, to which he was deeply attached, for many years, and 


B 19 


290 SHIRAZ 


had, I suppose, been born in Persia or brought thither when a 
child; at any rate he spoke Persian with no foreign accent which 
I could detect. To him was entrusted the duty of attending on 
me; he used to bring me my tea in the morning, announce meals 
ot visitors, and often, when I was alone, would stop and talk 
for an hour ata time. A pious Musulman, and extremely attentive 
to all the duties of his religion, he yet seemed quite free from that 
fanaticism and distrust of those belonging to other creeds with 
which piety is sometimes associated. Often he would talk to me 
of his master and his master’s friends; of the noble families of 
Shiraz, its poets, its learned men, and its governors, especially 
Ferhad Mirza, concerning whom he related many strange 
things; how he had hanged Sheykh Madhkur on a lofty gibbet, 
after making him eat one of the coins he had struck in his own 
name; how he had put down Muhammad Tahir Gilladari, who, 
from the fastness near Darabjird where he dwelt, sallied forth 
to plunder caravans till none dared pass that way; how he had 
bricked-up alive a multitude of less notable outlaws by the side 
of the highways which had witnessed their depredations; and 
how, never forgetting the slight put upon him by the people of 
Shiraz when he was recalled from his first administration, he 
evet cherished towards the city and its inhabitants an uncon- 
querable aversion. 

Thoroughly imbued with the superstitions of the country, 
Elmas would sometimes talk of Jinnis, Ghuls, ‘Ifrits, and other 
sprites and hobgoblins which are said to infest its desert places. 
One day, soon after my arrival, while crossing the courtyard 
with the Nawwab on my way to lunch, I saw a strange sight. 
Lying on his back on the ground, with outstretched arms, legs 
taised in the air, and soles upturned to heaven as though to 
receive an invisible bastinado, was a man of the lower classes 
whom I did not recognise as one whom I had previously seen 
about the house. How he came there I know not, nor what ailed 
him; and when I asked my host he merely shook his head 


SHIRAZ 291 


silently, As we continued to watch him, he suddenly gave a 
deep groan, and rolled over on his side with legs still flexed; 
whereupon Elmas, who had been standing quietly by, an un- 
moved spectator of the scene, approached him, and began to 
adopt the necessaty measures for his revival. In the evening 
when Elmas came to my toom I questioned him as to this 
strange occurrence. 

“Tt was the Jinnis,”’ he answered; “‘this man had doubtless 
offended them, and therefore do they torment him thus.” 

“Tn what way do men offend the Jinnis?” I asked. 

“In many ways,” replied Elmas, “as, for instance, by throwing 
a stone without first giving them warning by exclaiming ‘ Brsmi- 
*Uahi’r-Rabmdani’r-Rabim’ (‘in the name of God the Merciful, the 
Clement’). In such cases the stone may strike an invisible Jinni 
and blind him or otherwise cause him injury; such injury the 
Jinnis never forgive, but continue at intervals to inflict chastise- 
ment on the offender, even as you saw to-day.” 

I then proceeded to tell Elmas the stories I had heard from the 
muleteers in the Valley of the Angel of Death about the various 
hobgoblins whose favourite haunt it is supposed to be. With 
most of these he acquiesced, but of the Nasnas he gave a somewhat 
different account. 

“Tt does not injure people”; he said, “it is of a playful dis- 
position, and contents itself with frightening. For instance, a 
man was tiding between Shiraz and Bushire when he saw what 
he took to be a lamb by the roadside. He picked it up and placed 
it in front of him across his saddlebow. After he had gone some 
distance, he chanced to glance down on it, and saw with terror 
and amazement that it had grown and grown in length till its 
head and tail trailed on the ground on either side of the hotse: 
whereat, being greatly alarmed, he cast the thing from him and 
galloped off as hard as he could. These are the sort of pranks the 
Nasnas delights to play; but, so far as I have heard, it never 
inflicts more serious injury.” 


19-2 


292 SHIRAZ 


One morning, a day ot two after my arrival, Elm4s announced 
to me that Mirz4 Farhang, with his brother Mirza Yezdani (both 
poets of note, and sons of the celebrated poet Wisal), were below 
and desired to see me. Anxious to make the acquaintance of two 
of the most talented men in Shiraz, from a perusal of whose 
poetry (which, though perhaps scarcely equal to that of their 
elder brother, Mirz4 Davari, now deceased, is extremely fine) 
I had already derived much pleasure, I hastened down to greet 
my illustrious visitors. Mirza Yezdani was accompanied by his 
son, and the son of another of his brothers (also deceased), 
who wrote under the name of Himmat. My conversation was 
entirely with the elder poets, chiefly with Mirza Farhang; for 
however talented a son may be, and’ however honoured, it is 
contrary to Persian custom and etiquette for him to speak much 
in the presence of his father. I was greatly impressed with the 
appearance and manners of my talented visitors, especially with 
those of Mirza Farhang, to whose conversation an unusual 
breadth of knowledge and quickness of apprehension, combined 
with a soft voice and gentle unassuming manner, lent an irresist- 
ible charm. Poetry and philosophy naturally formed the chief 
topics of discussion; concerning the philosophy of the Hindus, 
and the method employed in deciphering the cuneiform inscrip- 
tions, Mirza Farhang manifested a special interest. The time 
passed all too quickly, and I was equally surprised and sorry 
when the visitors, declaring that they had already outstayed the 
ordinary limits of a morning call, rose to go. 

To the European doctor who had embraced Isl4m I have 
already alluded. I was naturally anxious to see him, and learn 
what causes had induced him to take this step. This at first 
appeared to be more difficult than I had supposed, for he seemed 
to dislike meeting other Europeans, though whether this arose 
from fear of being made the object of reproaches, or from a 
feigned fanaticism, I could not learn. At length, after several 
disappointments, business brought him to the Nawwab’s house, 


SHIRAZ 293 


and he sent up a message by Haji Safar that he would be glad 
to pay me a visit if I was disengaged. I at once sent word that 
I should be pleased to see him if he would come up, and in a 
few minutes he entered the room. The Persian dress which he 
had adopted did not appear to sit easily on him, and harmonised 
il with his personal appearance, which was anything but 
Oriental; neither did he seem to have become accustomed to 
his new part, for, on entering the room, he removed his lamb- 
skin hat, revealing hair cut in the Persian fashion, the natural 
reddish hue of which had been heightened rather than concealed 
by the henna with which it had been dyed. Thinking it unwise 
to question him at once on the causes which had led him to 
change his creed, I asked him concerning his adventures and 
travels. He informed me in reply that, having completed his 
medical studies at one of the large London hospitals, he had taken 
a post as surgeon on board an emigrant ship, in which capacity 
he had visited America, China, India, and Australia. After many 
wanderings and adventures, including a quarrel in the gold-fields 
wherein he had received a shot in the arm (the scar of which he 
showed me), he had finally arrived at Jedda. While he was 
residing there (according to his account) a message came that 
the Sherif of Mecca had been wounded with a knife in the 
abdomen, and desired the services of a European surgeon, if such 
were obtainable. Accordingly he proceeded thither, and treated 
the wound of his distinguished patient so successfully that in a 
short time it was cured, and the Sherif, moved by gratitude to 
his preserver, not only allowed him to remain at Mecca during 
the Pilgrimage, but also permitted him to visit Medina. The 
ceremonies of the Hajj, especially the “‘stoning the devil” at 
“Arafat, and the sacrifice of sheep at Mina, he described in detail; 
of the latter he spoke with mingled disgust and amazement, 
declaring that the ground was literally covered with innumerable 
carcases of slaughtered animals, which were, for the most part, left 
to rot and poison the atmosphere with their noisome stench. From 


294 SHIRAZ 


Mecca he had returned to Jedda, and thence by Bushire to Shiraz, 
where he had resided three or four months as a medical practitioner. 

“T am tired of this place now,” he said in conclusion, “and 
as I have seen everything worth seeing in the city, including 
Shah Chiragh and the other mosques (to which, I suppose, you 
have not been able to gain access), I intend to move on some- 
where else. Where are you going when you leave?” 

“Yezd and Kirman,” I answered, wondering inwardly if he 
would propose to accompany me, a plan to which, for several 
reasons, I should have refused to consent; “‘and you?” 

“T think that will be about my line of country,” he replied. 
“T want to get to Mashhad, whence I shall return home, for I 
am tited of wanderings and adventures, and would like to see 
my old mother again, who must be wondering at my long 
absence, if, indeed, she be not anxious on my account.” 

At this moment a young friend of mine, with whom I had 
first become acquainted some years before in Europe, and whom 
I shall henceforth designate as Mirza ‘Ali, entered the room, 
accompanied by an aged Seyyid. As I knew the latter to be not 
only a follower but a relation of the Bab, and as the renegade 
doctor was accompanied by an individual professedly devoted 
to the Sufi philosophy and styling himself Murshid (spiritual 
director), who was bitterly opposed to the new religion, I became 
vety uneasy lest some collision should occur between my 
visitors. Such ill-timed encounters fill us with anxiety even in 
England, where self-restraint and avoidance of dangerous topics 
ate inculcated on all: in Persia, where religious questions form 
one of the most usual subjects of conversation, whete religious 
feeling is so strong, the passion for discussion so great, and 
caution so scanty, they become positively dreadful, and I would 
almost as lief carry a lighted brand through a powder magazine 
as assist again at some of those terrible réunions at which (especi- 
ally in Kirman) it was my fate—I can hardly say my privilege— 
to be present. 


SHIRAZ 295 


On this occasion, however, my worst apprehensions were not 
destined to be fulfilled, though the direction given to the con- 
versation by Mirza ‘Ali kept them fully alive till the doctor and 
his companion departed, leaving the field to the Babis. It was, 
of course, necessary that I should introduce my Muhammadan 
compatriot to the newcomers; I hesitated whether to style him 
by the name which he had adopted on changing his creed, or by 
that which he had previously borne. Eventually I chose the 
latter course. 

“May I introduce to you Dr ——,” I said, “if, as it appears, 
you have not already made his acquaintance?” 

“Tf I have not met him I have heard about him,” answered 
Mirza ‘Ali; then, turning to the renegade, “What evil did you 
see in your own teligion,” said he, “or what good in Islam, that 
you have abandoned that for this? You, who appear to me to 
speak Persian but indifferently, do you know enough Arabic to 
understand the Kur’4n?”’ 

The object of this somewhat scornful address replied that he 
had read a translation of the sacred book. 

“Translation!” exclaimed Mirza ‘Ali with ill-concealed con- 
tempt, “and pray what particular passage or doctrine so com- 
mended itself to you that you became convinced of the divine 
origin of Islam? For of course you had some strong reason for 
casting aside the faith in which you were born.” 

The other muttered something about “liking the whole thing,” 
“being a Voltairian who regarded Christian and Muhammadan 
as one and the same,” and “‘doing at Rome as Rome does,”’—to 
all of which his interrogator vouchsafed no reply but a short 
laugh and a silence more chilling than words. The situation 
was painful and constrained in the extreme, and I was sincerely 
thankful when it was brought to an end by the departure of the 
discomfited doctor and his ally Murshid. 

The latter was present at another similarly ill-assorted gather- 
ing which chanced in the same room a few days later. On that 


296 SHIRAZ 


occasion he was accompanied by another friend, whom he 
introduced as a profound philosopher, but whom the Babis 
described subsequently as a notorious atheist (/é-madhhab). They 
had hardly entered when they were followed by two of my Babi 
friends, one of whom was a zealous propagandist and missionary 
of the sect, the friend, fellow-worker, and companion in numerous 
hardships of him whom I had met in the house of the da//d/ at 
Isfahan. Though he was only a temporary resident at Shiraz, 
which he has since quitted, I do not consider it advisable to 
mention his real name, and (since I shall have occasion to allude 
to him repeatedly) shall henceforth designate him as Haji Mirza 
Hasan. His companion was a young Seyyid, well known as a 
zealous partisan of the new religion. Although, fortunately, no 
overt passage of arms took place (the Babis, as before, being 
soon left in complete possession of the field), Murshid’s sus- 
picions were aroused by meeting notorious Babis in my toom 
on each of the two occasions on which he had visited me. A few | 
days before I left Shiraz I was informed by a young Armenian 
gentleman with whom I was pretty intimate that Murshid, who 
was assisting him in his studies, had sent me a special message 
warning me against Haji Mirza Hasan, and assuring me that I 
should do well to be more careful in choosing my associates, 
as a report (probably originated by himself) had got about Shiraz 
that I had become, or was on the point of becoming, a Babi. To 
this caution it is almost needless to say that I paid no attention, 
being amused rather than disquieted by this absurd rumour; 
indeed, I confess that I considered myself honoured rather than 
insulted by being identified with a body which can boast of a 
past so heroic. 

This was not the first warning which Murshid had given me 
on this point. The occasion of his first attempt to alienate me 
from his enemy, Haji Mirza Hasan, affords an example of that 
extraordinary readiness in divining one’s train of thought 
frequently possessed by the Persians, concerning which Vambéry 


SHIRAZ 297 


says that it often caused him the most lively disquietude when, 
in dervish habit, he was pursuing his adventurous journey to 
Turkistan. To explain how the occasion in question arose, it is 
necessaty to make a digression, and go back to the circum- 
stances which first made me acquainted with Murshid. 

My young Armenian friend (who, though born in Persia, had 
received an English education in Bombay, and spoke my native 
language at least as fluently as his own) was extremely kind in 
taking me to see whatever was of interest in the neighbourhood. 
Indeed, but for his good-nature my stay at Shiraz would have 
been much less entertaining and profitable than it actually was, 
and many places of interest to which he guided me would have 
remained unvisited. One day he asked me if I should like to 
accompany him on a visit to some distinguished Persian friends 
of his. 

“T came to know them through my Mirza (Murshid),” said he, 
“and as I must go and see them to offer them my congratulations 
for the New Year, I thought you might like to accompany me. 
They are of royal blood, being descended from the Farmdn- 
farmd, who was the eldest son of Fath ‘Ali Shah, and a 
man of great consequence and some literary attainments'. 
If you care to come, I am sure that they will be pleased to 
see you.” 

Of course I readily agreed to the proposition, being always 
eager to enlarge my knowledge of Persian society. Accordingly, 
in the afternoon I accompanied my Armenian friend to the 
house of his aristocratic acquaintances, who received us very 


1 He wrote several works, including the Shirdz-ndmé (“Book of Shirdz’’), 
Kitdb-i-Dilgushd (“ Book of Dilgusha,” or “Book expanding the Heart”) and 
Safinatw n-Najat (“ Atk of Salvation’’), ruled Shiraz and the province of Fars 
for nearly forty years, and adorned the former with the garden called Bagh-i- 
Naw. His daughter was the mother of the late Nawwab Muhammad-Kuli 
Khan, whose sons my new acquaintances were. These details were given 
me by Marshid, who professed himself devoted to the family, at whose house 
he was a constant guest. 


298 SHIRAZ 


hospitably, and urged us to partake of the tea, ka/ydns, sweet- 
meats, and other delicacies which, conformably to Persian custom 
at this festal season, were set before us in unstinted profusion. 
I was surprised to see amongst these a dish of dried prawns, 
which, I was informed, are brought from the Persian Gulf. They 
ate called in Persian meyg#/, and are esteemed a luxuty, though, 
in my opinion, undeservedly. 

The Princes wete very curious to know what had brought 
me to Persia, how I liked Shiraz, and how I was in the habit of 
travelling. They affected great surprise on learning that I had 
no horse of my own, and had only hired three animals from 
a charudddr. 1 met their expressed astonishment and implied 
contempt not by an argument (which I knew would be useless), 
but by an apologue. 

“T have read in some book,” I remarked, “‘that the great 
philosopher Diogenes used continually to decry the luxury 
which he saw around him, declaring that for him three things 
sufficed as furniture and clothing: the cloak wherewith he 
covered his nakedness, the staff wherewith he supported his 
steps, and the cup wherewith he quenched his thirst. Now one 
day, as he was drawing near to a stream to drink, he saw a child 
bending down over it, and raising the water to its lips by means 
of its hands, which it had placed together to form a cup. When 
Diogenes saw this, he threw away the cup which he carried, and 
ctied out, ‘Alas! alas! for years I have been inveighing against 
unnecessaty luxury, and all the while I carried with me an en- 
cumbrance of which this child has taught me the uselessness!’ 
The moral of this is obvious, to wit, that what is really indis- 
pensable to us is but little.” 

“Wah! wah!” replied my hosts, “that is indeed tajarrud” 
(freedom from worldly ties): ““we have only the name; you have 
the reality.” 

Harmony being thus happily restored, I was taken to see a 
room, the walls of which were adorned with family portraits 


SHIRAZ 299 


and paintings illustrative of scripture history. The portraits, of 
which my friends seemed justly proud, included one of Fath 
‘Ali Shah, very finely executed; one of the grandfather of my 
hosts; and one of their uncle. The scripture subjects were four: 
Moses and the Burning Bush; Abraham offering up Ishmael 
(according to the version of this event given in the Kur’an); 
Joseph taking leave of Jacob; and Christ with the Virgin Mary. 
While examining these works of art (which, indeed, well deserved 
attentive consideration) sundry little giggles of laughter and 
whisperings, proceeding from behind a carved wooden screen 
occupying the upper portion of the wall on one side of the room, 
caused me to glance in that direction, where several pairs of 
bright eyes, just visible through the interstices of the woodwork, 
left no doubt in my mind that the ladies of the harem were making 
merty at my expense. 

Before I left, my hosts exacted from me a promise that I would 
accompany them, on a day subsequently to be fixed, to an old 
tuin called Kasr-2-Abui-Nas, situated some miles to the east of 
Shiraz, which they declared to be equal in age to Persepolis. 
The day fixed for this excursion was that succeeding the morning 
which had witnessed the encounter between Murshid and the 
Babis, in my room. The time was afternoon. The party consisted 
of Murshid, my Armenian friend, and myself, together with our 
hosts, the princes, and one or two servants. 

We left Shiraz by the gate of the slaughter-house (Derwaé-i- 
kassdb-khané), somewhat appropriately so named, as it seemed to 
me; for just outside it, on either side of the road, was a double 
series of pillars of mortar, ten or twelve in number, each of 
which had formed the living tomb of an outlaw. There they 
stood, more or less disintegrated and destroyed, exposing here 
and there a whitened bone, to bear grim testimony to the rigour 
of the redoubtable Ferhad Mirza. 

Turning my back on these dismal relics, as well as on the 
tomb of Sheykh Ruz-bihan, a saint of some repute, I rode slowly 


300 SHIRAZ 


forwatd with Marshid. A pause occurring in the course of 
conversation, I said, more for the sake of making a remark than 
anything else: 

“‘T heard rather a curious expression the other day.” 

“Did you?” replied Murshid, “what was it?” 

Now the expression in question was “‘ass’s head” (in Arabic, 
ra’ su’l-bimdr; in Persian, sar-i-kbar), which signifies one whose 
presence in an assembly prevents free and unrestrained con- 
versation. Though I had indeed heard it from the Babis, and 
though it most happily described the position of Murshid in my 
room on the previous day, it had not been applied to him, 
though a train of thought, of which I was myself unconscious, 
undoubtedly prompted me to make this unhappy and very ma/- 
a-propos remark. 

““Ra’su’l-himdr,’”’ | answered, without reflection. 

Murshid did not fail to detect a sequence in my thought of 
which I myself was quite unaware. 

““Yes,”’ said he, somewhat grimly, “‘a very curious expression; 
generally used in its Persian form, ‘sar-7-khar.” From whom did 
you hear it?” 

“Oh,” I replied in some confusion, “I am not sure—I have 
almost forgotten—That is, a friend of mine ——” 

“was kind enough to apply it to me when I so inoppor- 
tunely broke in upon your little private conference.” 

I attempted to stammer a disavowal, feeling extremely an- 
noyed with myself for the folly of which I had been guilty, and 
yet half amused at the readiness with which a cap that fitted so 
remarkably well had been snatched up. Murshid paid no heed 
to my explanations. 

“As you are so fond of metaphysics,” he remarked severely, 
gazing straight before him the while, “you have no doubt 
studied the Masnavi of Mawlana Jalalu’d-Din Rumi, and may 
perhaps remember these lines, which I would in any case strongly 
commend to your attention— | 


SHIRAZ 301 
* Chin basi iblis-i-ddam-riy hast, 
Pas bi-har dasti na-shdyad ddd dast.’ 


‘Since there are many devils in the guise of men, 
One should not give one’s hand into every hand.’” 


“Tam sure I hope there are not many such human devils in 
Shiraz,’ I exclaimed. 

“On the contrary,” he answered shortly, “in Shiraz they are 
particularly abundant.” 

The subject dropped, but it took some time to smooth the 
ruffled feelings of my companion. Indeed, I am not sure that I 
ever regained his goodwill, or succeeded in obliterating the 
remembrance of my unhappy remark. 

Except for this incident the excursion was a very pleasant one, 
though we halted so long in two gardens belonging to the 
Princes (who were much more bent on a good ride, and a quiet 
tea and smoke under the trees of their heritages, than on anti- 
quarian research) that we had very little time left to examine 
the Kasr-i-Abd#-Nasr. It is quite a small enclosure surrounded 
by stones, carved with a few bas-teliefs like those at Persepolis, 
but devoid of inscriptions. Whether these undoubtedly ancient 
stones were originally placed in their present position I do not 
know; but one does not see what object can have induced anyone 
to bring them there from Persepolis or Darabjird. Of the four 
doorways which the building possessed, only one is standing, 
the other three having fallen, in consequence of “‘excavations”’ 
undertaken at the command of Ferhad Mirza. The faces of the 
beautiful great figures cut in bas-relief on the stones of the gate- 
way have, like some of those at Persepolis, been wilfully destroyed. 
On one of the fallen stones, however, is a bas-relief teptesenting 
a procession of captives or slaves laden with presents, sta is 
almost uninjured. 

Small as the extent of this interesting spot was, I had not 
time to examine it satisfactorily. The sun was close to the horizon 
when we reached the ruins, and had now completely disappeared 


302 SHIRAZ 


from view. It was high time to direct our steps towards the city 
with all haste, if we did not desire to be benighted in the open 
plain. As it was, we neatly lost our way several times, and only 
regained the city after blundering through marshes and streams 
innumerable towards the twinkling lights which marked its 
situation. 

The badness of the road prevented us all riding together, and 
I found myself, during the greater part of the way, next one 
of the princes. After he had exhaustively questioned me con- 
cerning the amount of my income, the sources whence it was 
derived, my occupation, my object in visiting Persia, and the 
like, he expressed a great desire to travel in Europe. 

“Do you think I could find any employment in England?” 
he asked. 

“It would not be easy,” I answered, “for our country is 
already over-full, and many are compelled to emigrate. Besides, 
you do not know our language. If you did come, I doubt if you 
would like it after the novelty was gone. Why should you desire 
to leave Shiraz? Your lot seems to me very enviable: you have 
a beautiful house, numerous horses and servants, gardens and 
villages such as we have visited to-day, and all this in one of the 
fairest spots I have ever seen. What motive can you possibly 
have for desiring to leave all this?” 

“T am tired of the useless and aimless life we are compelled 
to lead here,” he replied; “every day it is the same thing:—in 
the morning we tread or practise calligraphy till lunch; afterwards 
we sleep for an hour or two; then we have tea and smoke 
kalydns ; then—unless we have visitots—we go for a ride ot walk; 
then supper and bed. It is wearisome.” 

“Could you not obtain some definite employment from the 
Government here?” I demanded. 

“The Government would not employ us,” he answered, “‘just 
because we ate of royal descent. Is it so in your country? Is 
high birth there an impediment to promotion? But they are 


SHIRAZ 303 


distrustful of us because we are of kingly race. They prefer to 
employ persons of lowly origin, whom they can chastise for any 
fault. But suppose it were us, suppose we were to neglect our 
work or help ourselves to the public money, they could not 
punish us because we are so distinguished (mutashakhkbhis). So 
they decline to employ us at all.” 

This was the longest excursion which I made while resident 
in Shiraz. Indeed the objects of interest in the immediate vicinity 
of the city are so numerous that it is not necessary to go far afield. 
Of some of these it is time to speak briefly. 

Of coutse the tombs of Hafiz and Sa‘di first attracted my foot- 
steps; indeed I would have visited them the first day after my 
attival had it been possible, and was unable to rest till I had done 
so. Before speaking of them in detail it will be well to give the 
reader some idea of the relative situations of the various places 
which I shall notice. 

Most of these lie to the north of the city. Let the reader, 
therefore, suppose himself to have followed the Isfahan road 
(already partially described at the end of the preceding chapter) 
for about a mile and a half, and to have ascended the rise leading 
to the Tang-i-Allahu Akbar. Spanning this at its narrowest point 
is the atch on which rests the kur’dn-i-hafdah mani already men- 
tioned. Close to this, on the western side of the road, is a raised 
platform called Mashrikeyn, on which 1s a little pleasure-garden 
and coffee-house commanding a fine view. On the opposite side 
of the valley, a little above the bottom, along which flows the 
stream of Rukndbdd, is another building standing on a platform. 
This is called Takht-i-Nizdm, and is a celebrated resort of 
gamblers and dice-players. On the summit of the hill above this 
(z.e. the hill to the east of the Tang) is a curious little brick building 
called Kehvdré-i-Div (“the Demon’s Cradle’’), probably by reason 
of two horn-like projections from the roof. 

Here we pause, and, looking southward towards the city, 
enjoy a magnificent view, bisected, as it were, by the broad white 


304 SHIRAZ 


line formed by the road along which we came from the town to 
the Tang-i-Alldhu Akbar. Let us first consider the objects of 
interest which lie to the east of this. The chief of these, beginning 
with the remotest, are as follows:— 

The Sa‘diyyé (Tomb of Sa‘di) standing somewhat apart from 
the gardens scattered in such rich profusion in the plain below 
us. It lies at the foot of the hills, half concealed in a little valley 
which runs into them at this place, and is not conspicuous from 
most points of view. 

The Hafiziyyé (Tomb of Hafiz), far more popular and better 
cared for, rendered conspicuous by its tall dark cypresses and 
white walls. 

Chahil-tan (“Forty bodies”), and Haft-tan (“Seven bodies’’), 
pleasant shady groves interspersed with commodious buildings, 
which afford a quiet retreat to those who, wearied of worldly 
cares, adopt the calm life of the dervish. 

Then come the gardens, amongst which two ate conspicuous— 

Badgh-i-Dilgushd, the favourite haunt of the Sahib-Divan; 
and— 

Bagh-i- ]dn-numd, situated close to the road. 

This completes what we may call the “eastern hemisphere” 
of our panorama, with the exception of the Chdb-i-Murtazd ‘Ali 
(““Ali’s well’’), situated on another summit of the hills behind 
and to the east of our place of outlook, the Kehvdré-i-Div. Of 
this I shall speak presently. 

Let us now turn to the “western hemisphere.” Crossing the 
toad from the Bédgh-i-Jdn-numd just mentioned, we come to 
another very fine garden, the Bdgh-i-Naw'. 

Some distance to the north-west of this, farther from the road 
and on the slopes of the hills, is the splendid but neglected 
Bagh-i-Takht (“Garden of the Throne”), conspicuous for the 
white terraces and buildings which stand at its farther end, look- 
ing towards the city over avenues of judas-trees (erghavdn). 


1 See footnote on p. 297, supra. 


SHIRAZ 305 


Beyond and above this, perched half-way up the mountain 
side, stands a small white edifice surrounded by a few cypresses. 
This is called Baba Kuhi. 

The whole plain is dotted with gardens, but on the slopes of 
the hills which bound it towards the west, overlooked by the 
dazzling summit of the K#h-7-Barf (“Snow Mountain”), there 
is a compact mass of them extending for several miles. This is 
Masjid-Bardi. 

Amongst the gardens west of the city are two belonging to 
my host the Nawwab. The nearer of these is called Badgh-z-Sheykh, 
and the pleasant dwellings situated therein are occupied by the 
English members of the telegraph staff, the Superintendent, and 
the Doctor, while their Armenian colleagues dwell in the town. 
The farther one, distant perhaps two or three miles from the 
city, is situated close to the river-bed, on its northern side. It is 
called Rashk-i-Bibisht (“the Envy of Paradise”). Two pleasant 
picnics in this charming spot (of which the second was brought 
to an untimely end, so far as I was concerned, by an event which 
cut short my stay at Shiraz and altered all my plans) will be 
spoken of presently. 

Having now given a general, and, I hope, a sufficiently clear 
account of the topography of Shiraz, I shall proceed to notice 
some of the places above-mentioned in greater detail, beginning 
with the tombs of Hafiz and Sa‘di. 

Both of these, together with the Bdgh-z-Di/gusha, 1 visited on 
the same day, in company with one of the Nawwab’s servants. 
Though they are within an easy walk of the town, one of the 
Nawwab’s horses was placed at my disposal. It was a most 
beautiful animal, and the play of the muscles under its glossy skin 
gave token of great power, which, accompanied as it was by 
a display of freshness and spirit (“play,” as the Persians ad- 
miringly call it), was to me a source rather of anxiety than of 
gratification. I would greatly have preferred to walk, but it 1s 
hard to persuade a Persian that one prefers walking to riding, 


B 20 


306 SHIRAZ 


and I was constrained to accept an offer which was kindly 
intended. 

The tomb of Hafiz occupies the centre of an enclosed garden 
beautifully planted with cypresses and orange-trees. It is marked 
by a simple oblong block of stone, engraved with inscriptions 
consisting for the most part of quotations from the poet’s works. 
At the top is the following sentence in Arabic: — 


«« Huwa’L-BAki WA KULLU SHEY’I2 HALIK.” 
“‘ HE (z.e. GoD) Is THE ENDURING, AND ALL ELSE PASSETH AWAY.” 
Beneath this is the ode beginning— 
“ Muxhde-i-wasl-i-tu ki? Kaz sar-i-jan bar khizam; 
Ta’ir-i-kuds-am, va ax dim-i-vihin bar khizam.” 


“Where is the good tidings of union with Thee? for I will rise up with my 
whole heart; 
I am a bird of Paradise, and I will soar upwards from the snare of the 
world.” 


Round the edge of the stone is inscribed the ode beginning— 
“ Ey dil, ghulam-i-shah-i-jihdan bash, u shah bash! 
Peyvasté dar himdyat-t-lutf-i- lah bash!” 


“O heart, be the slave of the King of the World, and be a king! 
Abide continually under the protection of God’s favour!” 


Written diagonally across the two triangular spaces formed by 
the upper corners of the tombstone is the couplet— 
“ Bar sar-i-turbat-i-md chin guzari himmat khwah, 
Ki xiydrat-gah-t-rindan-ijihan khwahad shud.” 
“When thou passest by the head of our tomb, invoke a blessing, 

For it will be the place of pilgrimage of (all) the libertines of the world.” 
The corresponding spaces at the lower end of the tablet bear 
the well-known lines composed to commemorate the date of 
the poet’s death:— 

“ Chirdgh-i-ahl-i-ma‘nd Kh’ ajé Hafiz, 
[Ki sham‘t bid az ntir-i-tajalli, — 
Chi dar khak-i-Musalla sakht manzil| 
Bi-ju tarikh-ash az ‘ KHAK-I-Musau.a.’” 


SHIRAZ 307 


“That Lamp of the mystics, Master Hafiz, 
[Who was a candle of light from the Divine Effulgence, 
Since he made his abode in the Earth of Musalla] 
Seek his date from ‘the Earth of Musalla.’”’: 

The unequalled popularity still enjoyed by Hafiz is attested 
by the multitude of graves which surround his tomb. What 
Persian, indeed, would not desire that his ashes should mingle 
with those of the illustrious bard from whom contemporary 
fanaticism would fain have withheld the very rites of sepulture? 

Mote remote from the city, and marked by a much humbler 
edifice, lies the grave of Sa‘di. Popular—and deservedly popular 
—as his Gwulistdn and Bustan are, alike for the purity of style, 
richness of diction, variety of matter, and sententious wisdom 
which characterise them, in Persia itself his Divan is probably 
more widely read and more highly esteemed. Indeed it may be 
questioned whether in his own country his odes are not as much 
admired, as ardently studied, and as often quoted as those of 
Hafiz. But over his memory lies a shadow sufficient to account 
for the fact that few, if any, of his countrymen have cared to 
share his last resting-place, and that his grave stands alone in 
the little enclosure. Sa‘di, it is generally believed, was a Sunni; 
and whether it be true, as some of his admirers assert, that in 
professing this form of belief he merely practised the concealment 
of his real convictions (ketmdn) authorised by Shif‘ite ethics 
whenever considerations of personal safety appear to require it, 
the suspicion that he was really an adherent of this sect, so odious 
to every Shi‘ite Persian, was sufficiently strong to impel a 
fanatical Mujtahid of Shiraz to destroy the tombstone originally 
erected over the poet’s grave. The present stone was set up at the 
expense, and by the orders, of the Kiw4m—the father of the 


1 Only the first and last of these four lines are given on the tombstone, the 
intermediate ones having probably been omitted for lack of space. Each 
letter of the Arabic alphabet has a numerical value (these values ranging 
through the units, tens, and hundreds to one thousand), and the words 
“ Khak-i-Musalla” (“Earth of Musalla”) are numerically equivalent to 
[A.H.] 791 (= A.D. 1389). 


20-2 


308 SHIRAZ 


SdAhib-Div4n. It bears the same Arabic inscription, testifying 
to the transitoriness of all things but God, as that which is 
engraved on the tomb of Hafiz. Below this are engraved the 
opening lines of that canto of the Bwstdn written in praise of 
the Prophet. 

At the Hafrziyyé I had been unable to see the copy of the poet’s 
works kept there for purposes of divination and augury, as the 
guardian of the shrine (wutawall/) was engaged in performing his 
devotions. At the Sa‘diyyé I was mote fortunate; the mutawalli 
was disengaged, and readily produced the manuscript of the 
complete works (kuw//iyydt) of the poet. It is very well written, and 
beautifully ornamented, but not old, for it dates only from the 
reion of Karim Khan the Zend (¢. A.D. 1770). Twelve pages, 
which had been destroyed or lost, have been replaced by the 
skilful hand of Mirza Farhang, the poet. 

The Garden of Dilgusha, whither I proceeded on leaving the 
Sa‘diyyé, is very beautiful, with its tanks of clear water, avenues 
of orange-trees, and variety of flowers. The gardener brought 
me a present of wall-flowers (k/eyr7), and I entered into conver- 
sation with him. He said that the Sahib-Divan, to whom it had 
belonged, had been passionately attached ‘to it, and that the 
thought of abandoning it to strangers, who might neglect it or 
injure its beauty, had added the sharpest sting to the humiliation 
of his dismissal. That the Sahib-Divan was a bad administrator 
I have no doubt, but he was not cruel, and this love for his garden 
appeats to me a pleasing trait in his character. Indeed, one 
cannot help pitying the old man, dismissed from the office he 
had so long held, and recalled from his beloved Shiraz to the 
capital, to meet the doubtful mood of a despot, while the name 
he left behind served as the butt whereon the poetaster and the 
satirist might exercise their wit till such time as a new object 
of scorn and derision should present itself. For it is not only 
the graceful and melodious lays of Hafiz, Sa‘di, or Ka’4ni, which, 
accompanied by the soft strains of the s7-t¢r and the mono- 


SHIRAZ 309 


tonous beat of the dunbak, delight the joyous revellers who drink 
the wine of Khullar under the roses bordering some mut- 
muring streamlet; interspersed with these are rhymes which, if 
less lofty, seldom fail to awaken the applause of the listeners. 
We are apt to think of the Persians as an entirely sedate, grave, 
and almost melancholy people; philosophers, often pessimist, 
seldom mirthful. Such a type does indeed exist, and exists in 
plenty. Yet amongst all Orientals the Persians are perhaps those 
whose idea of humour most nearly approaches our own, those 
in whom the sense of the ludicrous is most highly developed. 
One is amazed at the ready tepartees, brilliant sallies of wit, 
bon-mots, and “chaff”? which fly about on all sides in a convivial 
gathering of Persian literary men. 

‘nacnaft, +, the teader, may exclaim, “is; it. possible ‘that 
the compatriots of “Omar Khayy4m can condescend to 
SGhattaca, 

Not only is it possible, but very far from unusual; more than 
this, there is a very tich vocabulary of slang, of which the ex- 
istence would hardly be suspected by the student of Persian 
literature. This is not all. The Persians have a multitude of songs 
—ephemeral, of course, and not to be bought in the book-shops 
—which, if they are not comic, ate most decidedly topical. 
These compositions ate called sasnif, and their authors, for 
the most part, modestly—perhaps wisely—prefer to temain 
anonymous. 

In such lampoons, in words devoid of ambiguity, and with 
a frankness bordering on brutality, were the faults and failings 
of the Séhib-Divan held up to ridicule and obloquy. I only 
remember a few lines of one of the most popular of these songs. 
They tran as follows:— 


“ Dileushd-ra sakht ztr-i-sursurak, 
Dilgushd-rad sakht ba chib u falak, 
Heyf-i-Dilgushd ! 
Heyf-t-Dilgushd!”’ 


310 SHIRAZ 


“He made Dilgusha under the ‘Slide,’ ! 
He made Dilgusha with the sticks and pole?, 
Alas for Dilgusha! 
Alas for Dilgusha!” 

From all that I have said it will be sufficiently evident that the 
Sahib-Divan was extremely unpopular with the Shirazis. Per- 
haps his own misdeeds were not the sole cause of this unpopu- 
larity. The memory of the black treachery of his ancestor, Haji 
Ibrahim Khan, may be answerable to some extent for the 
detestation in which he was held. The story of this treachery is 
briefly as follows:— 

On the death of Karim Khan, the noble and chivalrous prince 
of the Zend dynasty, and the succession of the no less noble, 
no less chivalrous, but far more unfortunate Lutf ‘Ali Khan, 
Haji Ibrahim Khan was retained by the latter in the influential 
position which he had previously occupied. So far from sus- 
pecting that one attached to him and his family by every bond 
of gratitude could meditate his betrayal, Lutf ‘Ali Khan reposed 
the fullest confidence in his unworthy minister, and entrusted 
to him those powers which rendered possible an act of infamy 
as hateful as the tyrant in whose service it was done. The fortune 
of the Zend was already on the decline: already the tide of battle 
had turned against him, and Shiraz had awakened from a dream 
of happiness to find the Kajar bloodhounds baying beneath her 
walls. Then Haji Ibrahim Khan conceived the diabolical idea 
of securing his own safety and wealth by selling his kind master 
to a foe as implacable as he was cruel, as mean in spirit as he 
was hideous in aspect. Aka Muhammad Khan readily accepted 


1 The “Slide” (sursurak) is a smooth incline on the hillside to the east of 
the Tang-i-Alléhu Akbar above the garden of Dilgushd. 

2 “The sticks and pole,” 7.e. the bastinado. The pole in question is em- 
ployed to retain the ankles of the culprit during the infliction of the punish- 
ment. It is simple in construction, consisting merely of a straight piece of 
wood pierced towards the middle by two holes a short distance apart, through 
which is passed a loop of rope. This loop, thrown round the ankles of the 
victim, and made taut by a few turns, renders flinching impossible. 


SHIRAZ 311 


the traitor’s services, promising in return for these that so long 
as he lived Ibrahim Khan should be honoured and protected. 
So one night the gates of Shiraz were opened to the usurper; and 
it was only by heroic efforts that Lutf ‘Ali Khan succeeded in 
escaping for the time from his cruel enemy, and, cutting his way 
through all who sought to bar his progress, fled eastwards 
towards Kirman. 

Aké Muhammad Khan kept his word to the letter. So long 
as he lived, Haji Ibrahim Khan was loaded with favours. But 
when the tyrant felt his last hour approaching, he called to his 
side his successor, Fath ‘Ali Shah, and addressed him in words 
to this effect:— 

“As soon as I am dead, and you ate established on the throne 
which I have won, let your first act be to extitpate, root and 
branch, the family of Haji Ibrahim Khan. I swore to him that, 
as a tewatd for his treachery, I would protect and honour him 
as long as I lived. This oath I have faithfully kept; but when I am 
_ dead it will be no longer binding. Therefore I counsel you to be 
rid of the traitor and all his brood, for one who did not scruple 
to betray a master who had shown him nothing but kindness 
will certainly not hesitate to do the same again should oppor- 
tunity offer. Let not one of that accursed family remain, for truly 
has the poet said— 

‘* Akibat gurg-xddé gurg shavad, 
Garché ba ddami buzurg shavad.’ 
‘At length the wolf-cub will become a wolf, 
Even though it grow up amongst men.’ 
Let no compunction stay your hand; let no false clemency tempt 
you to disobey my dying injunctions.” 

Fath ‘Ali Shah had no sooner mounted the throne than he 
proceeded to execute the last behest of his predecessor. From 
all parts of the empire the descendants of the traitor to whom 
the new king owed his undisputed supremacy were sought out. 
Perhaps, when he had in some measure slaked his thirst for 


312 SHIRAZ 


blood, Fath ‘Ali Shah remembered that the black sin which he 
was now visiting on the innocent progeny of the criminal had 
after all been perpetrated in his interests and for the consolidation 
of his power. At any tate, he so far mitigated the rigour of his 
instructions as to spare some few of the doomed family after 
they had been deprived of their eyesight and otherwise mutilated. 
Only one, whose tender yeats moved the compassion of the 
executioners, escaped unharmed. That one was the father of the 
Sahib-Divan. Can we wonder if, when such punishment was 
meted out to the offspring of the traitor by the tyrant whom he 
setved, hatred should be the portion of his descendants from the 
city which he betrayed? So much for the Sahib-Divan. We must 
now teturn to Shiraz and its environs. 

The garden of Haft-tan I visited with my Armenian friend. 
It is a pleasant secluded spot, well fitted to calm the spirits and 
elevate the thoughts of the dervishes who dwell within its shady 
precincts. The presence of a large and savage-looking dog, 
which rushed at us with loud barkings as soon as we entered 
the gate, somewhat marred this impression of quietude at first: 
it was, however, soon secuted by one of the dervishes. We sat 
for a while by the seven graves from which the place takes its 
name, and drank tea, which was brought to us by the kindly 
inmates. A venerable old dervish entered into conversation with 
us, and even walked with us as far as the gate of the city. He was 
one of those dervishes who inspire one with respect for a name 
which serves but too often to shelter idleness, sloth, and even 
vice. Too often is it the case that the traveller, judging only 
by the opium-eating, /ashish-smoking mendicant, who, with 
matted hair, glassy eyes, and harsh, raucous voice, importunes 
the passers-by for alms, condemns all dervishes as a blemish 
and a bane to their country. Yet in truth this is far from being 
a cotrect view. Nowhere are men to be met with so enlightened, 
so intelligent, so tolerant, so well-informed, and so simple- 
minded as amongst the ranks of the dervishes. 


SHIRAZ 313 


The only other object of interest outside the city which 
demands any detailed notice is the Chdb-i-Murtazd ‘AV; for the 
gardens not described above, beautiful as they are, possess no 
features so distinctive as to render description necessary. ‘The 
Chah-i-Murtazd ‘Ali (“Alf’s well’’) is situated about half a mile 
to the north-east of the Kehvdré-i-Div, on the summit of the hills 
east of the Tang-t-Allahu Akbar. A building of considerable 
size, inhabited by the custodian of the shrine and his family, 
surmounts the “well,” which is reached by descending a very 
slippery stone staircase of nineteen steps. This staircase opens 
out of a large toom, where visitors can rest and smoke a ka/ydn. 
Above the archway which surmounts it are inscriptions in Arabic 
and Persian of no very ancient date. Half-way down the rocky 
stait is a wider space, which forms a sort of landing. At the 
bottom is a small cave or erotto, wherein is a little well, such as 
one often sees by English roadsides, into the basin of which water 
continually drips from the rock above. Opposite this a tablet 
shaped like the tombstones seen in old churchyards is carved on 
the wall. In the centre of this is a rude design, which appears 
to be intended for a flower growing in a flower-pot. On either 
side of this are two lines in Arabic, but these are so effaced by 
time and the touches of visitors to the shrine that they are almost 
illegible. In front of this tablet is a place for votive candles, 
which are brought hither by the devout. We were not allowed 
much time for examining the place, the guardian of the shrine 
continually calling out to us from above that the air was bad and 
would do us an injury, which, indeed, was possibly true, for it 
seemed to me to be loaded with carbonic acid or other stifling 
eases. Having ascended again to the room above, we stayed a 
while to smoke a ka/ydn and talk to the custodian. He knew little 
about the age or history of the place, only asserting that in 
ancient days it had been a fire-temple, but that in the days of 
Muhammad the fire had been for ever quenched by a miraculous 
bursting forth of the water from the well. 


314 SHIRAZ 


I have now described all the more interesting places which I 
visited outside the city. It remains to say something of those 
situated within its walls. There are several fine mosques, the most 
celebrated of which is Shah Chiragh, but to these I was not able 
to gain access, and of them I cannot therefore speak. The narrow, 
tortuous stteets differ in no wise from those of other Persian 
towns, but the bazaar demands a few words of notice. It was 
built by Karim Khan the Zend, and, though not very extensive, 
is wide, lofty, and well constructed. As regards the wares ex- 
posed for sale in its shops, the long muzzle-loading guns manu- 
factured in the city (which, primitive as they may appear to a 
European, ate capable of doing wonders in the hands of the 
Persian marksmen) chiefly attract the notice of the stranger. The 
book-shops are few in number, and the books which they con- 
tain are brought for the most part from Teheran, there being no 
printing-press in Shiraz. Indeed, so far as I know, the only 
presses in Persia are at Teheran, Isfahan, and Tabriz. 

All, or nearly all, the European wares sold in Shiraz are, as 
one would expect, of English manufacture. The sale of these is 
chiefly in the hands of the Armenian and Zoroastrian merchants 
who inhabit the Kdravan-sardy-i-Rawghani and the Kdravdn-sardy-i- 
Mushir. In the shop of one of the Armenian traders I observed 
English guns, ammunition, tennis-shoes, tobacco, preserves, 
potted meats, writing materials, note-books, an Indian sun- 
helmet, and a musical box; articles which would be vainly sought 
for in Teheran, where nearly all, if not all, the European goods 
come from Russia. 

The number- of Zoroastrians in Shiraz does not exceed a 
dozen. They are all merchants, and all natives of Yezd or Kir- 
man. To one of them, named Mihraban, a Yezdi, I paid one or 
two visits. On the occasion of my first visit he informed me with 
delight that he was expecting a Parsee from Bombay in a few 
days, and expressed a hope that I would come and see him. 
A fortnight later, as I was passing near the caravansaray, I heard 


SHIRAZ 315 


that the expected guest had arrived, and turned aside to Mihra- 
ban’s shop to see him. At first sight I took him for a European, 
for he wore English clothes, and on his head a cloth cap of the 
kind known as “deer-stalkers.” Our conversation was con- 
ducted in English, which he spoke well—much better than 
Persian, in which, at any rate colloquially, he was far from 
proficient, having learned to pronounce it after the fashion 
prevalent in India. I found that he was on his way to Europe, 
which he had already visited on a previous occasion, and that he 
had chosen the overland route through Persia, because he 
desired to behold the ancient home of his ancestors. I asked him 
how he liked it. | 

“Not at all,” he replied; “I think it is a horrible country: 
no tailways, no hotels, no places of amusement—nothing. I 
have only been in Shiraz a couple of days, and I am tired of it 
already, and mean to leave it in a day or two mote.” 

“T think it is a beautiful place,” I answered, “and though I 
have been here more than a fortnight, I am in no wise wearied 
of its charms, and have not begun to think of quitting it yet.” 

“Beautiful!’’ he exclaimed; “‘you cannot surely mean that 
you admire it? What can you find to like in it—you, who have 
seen London and Paris—who have been accustomed to civilised 
countries?” 

“Perhaps that is just the reason why I do like it,” I answered, 
“for one just gets the least bit tired of ‘civilised countries’ after 
a while: they are all so much alike. Here everything is delight- 
fully novel and refreshing. Of course, you will go to Yezd to 
see your co-religionists there?”’ 

“Not I!” he replied; “I shall go straight to Teheran as fast 
as I can, only stopping a day or two in Isfahan on the way. My 
sole desire is to get out of this country as soon as I can into one 
where there are railways and other appliances of civilisation. As 
for my co-teligionists, I have no particular wish to see more of 
them than I have done at present. I suppose they are like this 


316 SHIRAZ 


man’”’ (pointing to his host, who stood by smiling, unconscious of 
the purport of his guest’s remarks)—“‘little better than savages.” 

“Well,”’ I said, mentally contrasting the ingratitude of this 
admirer of civilisation with the humble but cordial hospitality 
of the host whom he affected to despise, ““I am not a Zoro- 
astrian, yet I intend to visit Yezd before I leave Persia, expressly 
to see your co-teligionists there, and I wonder that you too do 
not wish to acquaint yourself with their condition.” 

I then bade farewell to my Parsee friend and his host, but I fell 
in with the former again on his journey northwards, as will be 
set forth in its proper place. 

The Sahib-Divan had quitted Shiraz before the Feast of the 
Nawruz. The new governor, Prince Ihtish4mu’d-Dawla (the son 
of Ferhad Mirza), whom I had already seen at Teheran, did not 
enter the city till the thirteenth day after it. This circumstance 
was for me very fortunate, since it enabled me not only to witness 
the ceremonies attendant on his entry, but also to visit the citadel 
(Arg) during his absence. 

The entry of the new governor into the city was a very fine 
sight. He had been in the neighbourhood for several days, but 
the astrologers had fixed on the thirteenth day after the Nawruz 
as most auspicious for his inauguration. From a Persian point 
of view it was so, for, as it is a universal holiday, all the people 
were enabled to take part in the rejoicings. From a European 
standpoint the selection seemed scarcely so happy, for the day 
chosen was the first of April. 

Having been misinformed as to the time when the Prince 
would arrive, I was too late to see more than the entry of the 
procession into the great square in front of the citadel (Meyddn-i- 
Arg). From the lofty roof of the majestic building which now 
contains the telegraph-oflices I obtained a good view of the 
whole pageant. The Prince, mounted on a handsome gray horse, 
was sutrounded by all the nobles of Shiraz and the neighbour- 
hood, and preceded by a number of soldiers and couriers, and 


SHIRAZ 317 


a band mounted on camels, while a vast crowd followed and filled 
the square. A roar of artillery greeted his arrival, causing the 
building on which we stood to tremble. From what I heard I 
should fancy that the sight outside the city was even finer. Both 
sides of the road as far as the Tang-i-Alldhu Akbar were lined 
with spectators, while numerous deputations came out to meet 
and welcome the new governot. 

The citadel (Arg) is a large and handsome pile containing a- 
fine garden, in the centre of which is a building called, from the 
shape of its roof, Kualdh-i-Firang (“the European’s Hat’’). The 
interior of this is cruciform, four elongated rooms opening out 
of the central hall, in the middle of which is a fountain. The lower 
part of the walls is composed of the beautiful marble of Yezd. 
The building is entered on either side by three steps, each of 
which is made of a single block of stone. It was in this building, 
I believe, that the Babi captives taken at Niriz were exhibited 
to Firuz Mirza, then governor of Shiraz. These captives, con- 
sisting entirely of women and little children (for the men had all 
been slain on the spot), were subsequently confined in an old 
caravansaray just outside the Isfahén gate, where they suffered 
great hardships, besides being exposed, as the Babi historian 
assetts, to the brutality of the soldiers. 

On the outer wall of the principal block of buildings 1s a 
series of bas-reliefs representing the exploits of the old heroes 
of ancient Persia. These have been gaudily coloured by order 
of the young Prince Jalalu’d-Dawla. Some of the rooms in this 
block are very beautiful, but several have been converted into 
bakehouses, and the paintings on their walls blackened with 
smoke and dirt. One very pretty room contained a portrait of 
Nasiruw’d-Din Shah, painted at the beginning of his reign, while 
the ceiling was adorned with representations of female figures. 
On the side of the room opposite to the windows and entrance 
were three doors leading to apartments beyond. Over each of 
these was inscribed a verse of poetty. 


318 SHIRAZ 
The first ran thus:— 


“ Sar-i-dushman u dust bar in dar-ast, 

Bar in dstan pdsban kaysar-ast. 

Yaki khwdst k’afsar nihad—sar nihad: 

Yaki sar nihad—<angab afsar nihdad.” 

“At this door are laid the heads of enemies and friends, 

On this threshold kings stand sentinel. 
One desired to wear a ctown—he lost his head: 
Another laid down his head—and then wore a crown.”’! 


The second was as follows:— 
“ Bashad dar-i-rabmat ki Khuda kardé firdz ! 


Mardum su-yi 4 chu Ka‘ba drand namaz ! 
Chin Ka‘ba bi-khwanamash? Ki dyad bi-niyaz 
Injd Mugh 4 Hindd 4 Musulmdn bi-namaz.” 
“May it be the door of mercy which God has opened! 
May men pray towards it as towards the Ka‘ba! 
How shall I call it ‘Ka‘ba’? For hither come in supplication 
Magian and Hindi and Musulmén to pray.” 


The third ran thus:— 
“Tn dar (ki bdd td bi-abad sijda-gah-i-khalk !) 


Did dsman, u guft, ‘ Bar-ti pasban man-am!? 
Dawlat bar astané-i-u bar nihdd sar 
Ya‘nt, ‘ Kaminé chdkar-t-in dstdn man-am!’” 


“This door (may it be till eternity the place of the people’s reverence!) 
Heaven saw, and said, ‘Over it I am the sentinel!’ 
Fortune laid down her head on its threshold, 
As though to say, ‘I am the humble servant of this threshold.’” 


Several of the fireplaces in the different rooms bore appro- 
priate verses inscribed on them. Two of these may setve as 
examples. The first runs thus:— 

Az bukhdri md tarik-i-disti dmukhtim, 
Khwishtan-ra az bardyi hamnishindn sukhtim.? 


“We have learned the way of friendship from the grate, 
We have consumed ourselves for the sake of our neighbours.” 


1 That is, one revolts and is beheaded, while another submits and is 
rewarded ae a crown. 


SHIRAZ 319 


The second is as follows:— 
“ Bi-ghayr az bukhdri na-didim kas 
Ki bad dushman u dust garmi dthad.” 
“Except the grate, we have seen no one 
Who is warm alike towards friend and foe.” 

Having now attempted to depict the city of Shiraz—its 
palaces, gardens, shrines, pleasure-grounds, and places of resort 
—I must return once more to the life within its walls. As I have 
said, there was no lack of society, and 1 enjoyed opportunities 
of witnessing a variety of Persian entertainments. As I have 
already described the general features of these in speaking of 
Teheran, I shall endeavour to be as concise as possible in this 
place, merely noticing such points as were novel to me. 

Two days after my arrival at Shiraz I was invited with the 
Nawwab to an entertainment given by an Armenian gentleman 
connected with the telegraph. On reaching the house soon after 
sunset I was cordially received by the host, who introduced me 
to his wife and another lady relative, and to his cousin, whom 
I have already had occasion to mention more than once as the 
companion of my excursions. The latter was about twenty-one 
yeats of age, had resided for a long time in Bombay, where he 
had been connected with the press, and spoke English perfectly, 
as did my host. The ladies preferred to talk Persian, in which 
language one of them was remarkably proficient, reading with 
ease the most difficult poetry. After a short while the other guests 
atrived. These were three in number: the Begler-begi, a young 
and somewhat arrogant nobleman; a friend of his, less arrogant 
but more boisterous; and a turbaned and bearded philosopher. 
To the latter I was introduced as a student of Metaphysics, and 
he at once proceeded to question me on the books I had read, 
the teachers with whom I had studied, and, finally, on some of 
those knotty problems which, long buried in oblivion in Europe, 
still agitate the minds and exercise the ingenuity of the Persian 
schoolmen. From a trying cross-examination as to my views on 


320 SHIRAZ 


the primordial atom ( juz’ alladhi ld yatajazzd) 1 was fortunately 
telieved by the entrance of two Jewish minstrels and a dancing- 
boy, who had been engaged for our entertainment. The attention 
of the philosopher began to wander; his eyes were fixed on the 
evolutions of the dancer; his hands and feet beat time to the 
music. Wine was offered to him and not refused; metaphysics 
was exorcised by melody; and ere the hour of departure arrived, 
the disciple of Aristotle and Avicenna lay helpless on the floor, 
incapable of utterance, insensible to reproof, and oblivious alike 
of dignity and decorum. It is but just to say that this was the 
only occasion on which I witnessed so disgraceful a sight in 
Shiraz. 

The Jewish minstrels of whom I have spoken appeared to 
be the favourite artists in their profession, for they were present 
at almost every entertainment of which music formed a part. 
One of the two men was noted for the hideous contortions into 
which he could twist his face. He was also, as I learned, an 
admirable mimic, and excelled especially in personating the 
Firanei Sahib and the Muhammadan Mulla. These representa- 
tions I did not witness, the former being withheld out of respect 
for my feelings, and the latter reserved for very select audiences 
who could be trusted to observe a discreet silence; for a poor 
Jew would not willingly run the risk of incurring the resentment 
of the powerful and fanatical priests. The dancing-boy cannot 
have been more than ten or eleven years old. When performing, 
he wote such raiment as is usual with acrobats, with the addition 
of a small close-fitting cap, from beneath which his black hair 
streamed in long locks, a tunic reaching half-way to the knees, 
and a mass of trinkets which jingled at every movement. His 
evolutions were characterised by agility and suppleness rather 
than grace, and appeared to me somewhat monotonous, and at 
times even inelegant. I saw him for the second time at the house 
of Haji Nasru’ll4h Khan, the Ilkhani. On this occasion he super- 
added to his ordinary duties the function of cup-bearer, which 


SHIRAZ 321 


he performed in a somewhat novel and curious manner. Having 
filled the wine-glass, he took the edge of the circular foot on 
which it stands firmly in his teeth, and, approaching each guest 
in turn, leaned slowly down so as to bring the wine within reach 
of the drinker, continually bending his body more and more 
forwards as the level of the liquid sank lower. One or two of 
the guests appeared particularly delighted with this mancuvte, 
and strove to imprint a kiss on the boy’s cheek as he quickly 
withdrew the empty glass. 

Amongst the guests was one who had just arrived from the 
North with the new governor. He was very conversational, and 
his talk was almost entirely about philosophy. What his views 
wete I could not ascertain; at first I was inclined to suspect he 
might be a Babi, for he greeted me with the remark that he had 
been looking forward to seeing me ever since he left Isfahan, 
where he had heard a good deal about me. This remark he 
accompanied with a look full of meaning, and followed it up by 
asking me if I had met a young Frenchman, M. R——, who had 
lately passed through Persia. This strengthened my suspicions, 
for I had heard much of the gentleman in question: how he had 
been for some while amongst the Babis in Syria, how he had 
received from their chiefs letters of introduction and recom- 
mendation, and how, by reason of these, he had been greeted 
with a perfect ovation by the Babis in every Persian town which 
he had visited. I began to be afraid that some indiscretion on 
the part of my loquacious friend would betray my dealings with 
the Babis, which, for many reasons, I was anxious to keep secret. 
I therefore answered guardedly that I had not met the French 
traveller, and enquired what manner of man he was. 

“T met him several times and liked him very much,” he 
replied. 

One ot two of those present who had been listening to our con- 
vetsation began to manifest signs of curiosity, observing which 
I hastened to change the subject. It was not long, however, 


B ; 21 


322 SHIRAZ 


before religious topics again came up, and I began to think 
that I had mistaken my friend’s opinions, for now he spoke in 
the strangest manner, alternately putting forward views quite 
incompatible, and delighting, apparently, in the perplexity which 
his paradoxes caused me. At last I asked him point-blank what 
his real opinions were. 

“You know very well,” he replied. 

I-assured him that he was mistaken, and pressed him for a _ 
clearer answer. 

“Well, they are the same as yours,” he said; and with this 
unsatisfactory reply I was forced to be content. 

I have already alluded to the pleasant picnics in the garden of 
Rashk-i-Bihisht, to which, on two occasions, I accompanied the 
Nawwab. The number of guests at each of these was about a 
dozen, while at least as many servants were in attendance to 
cook the food, lay the cloth, and prepare tea and ka/ydns. On the 
first occasion I was awakened at half-past seven in the morning 
by Haji Safar, who informed me that the Nawwab was already 
preparing to start. I dressed as quickly as I could, but on de- 
scending into the courtyard found that he had already gone on 
to receive his guests, leaving his uncle, Haji Da’i, to wait, not 
in the best of tempers, for my appearance. I apologised meekly 
for my unpunctuality, excusing myself by saying that I did not 
know we wete to start so early. 

“Of coutse we were to start early,” he retorted, ‘“‘before the 
sun should be high and the day grow hot.” 

“Yes, if it were summer that would be necessary,” I answered, 
“but it is hardly spring yet. I don’t think it will be very hot to- 
day,” I added, gazing at the cloudy sky. 

“Well, the guests were asked for this time, the Nawwab has 
already gone on to teceive them, and the horses have been 
waiting for a long while. Come! Let us start at once.” 

On reaching the garden, which was situated at a distance of 
about two miles from the town, we found the chief guests 


SHIRAZ | Pee 


already assembled. Amongst them were two princes, Siyavush 
Mirza and Jalalu’d-Din Mirza, cousins to one another, and 
descendants of Fath-‘Ali Shah’s eldest son, the Farmdn-farmd. 
The latter was accompanied by his son, a handsome boy of about 
fourteen. Of the remaining guests, three were brothers belonging 
to a family of some consideration in Shiraz. One of them, 
Abw’l-Kasim Khan, I had already met at the Nawwab’s; another, 
Hidayatu’lla4h Khan, attracted my attention by his firm refusal 
to drink wine, which he appeared to regard with unqualified 
disapproval. I had a good deal of conversation with him sub- 
sequently, and found him both agreeable and intelligent. The 
eldest brother was named Khan-Baba-Khan. A previous ac- 
quaintance of mine, remarkable not less for his great business 
capacities and intimate knowledge of the country round Shiraz 
than for his extremely ugly countenance, which had gained for 
him the sobriquet of “Haji Ghul” (“the ogre,” as one may 
translate it), joined us somewhat later. One of the Jewish 
minstrels of cee I have spoken, Arzani by name, was also 
present, and continued during the morning to entertain us with 
music and song, assisted therein by Shukru’ll4h, the blind 
minstrel, and occasionally by such of the Bucsis as possessed 
musical talent. 

The tain, which had been threatening all the morning, pre- 
sently descended in a steady downpour. As we watched the 
dripping trees from the shelter of the summet-house where we 
were seated, I expressed regret that the weather should be so bad. 

“Bad!” was the answer I received, “why, it is beautiful 
weather! Just the day one would wish; a real spring day.” 

I found it difficult at first to understand this view, which was 
evidently shared by all present except myself. The fact is, that in 
Persia, where during the summer hardly a drop of rain descends 
to moisten the parched earth, the welcome showers of spring, 
on which the abundance of the crops, and consequently the 
welfare of all classes, so entirely depends, are regarded with a 


21-2 


324 SHIRAZ 


genuine delight and admiration which we can scarcely com- 
prehend. There is nothing which a Persian enjoys more than 
to sit sipping his wine under the shelter of a summer-house, 
while he gazes on the falling rain-drops, and sniffs up the 
moist, soft ait, laden with the grateful scent of the reviving 
flowers. 

After lunch, which was served about mid-day, the room was 
darkened by lowering a great curtain suspended outside the 
windows, and most of the guests composed themselves to sleep. 
About 3 p.m. they began to rouse themselves; tea and pipes 
wete brought, and conversation and music tecommenced till 
about sunset. The rain having ceased, we mounted our horses 
and wended our way back to the city. 

It will be seen that I had plenty of amusement during my stay 
at Shiraz, and that of a varied character. To have described all 
the social gatherings wherein I took a part would have been 
wearisome to the reader, and I have therefore selected as speci- 
mens only those which were typical of a class, or marked by 
special features of interest. Neither was I limited to Persian 
society. The chief of the telegraph, as well as the medical officer 
attached to that department, had left Shiraz on a visit of in- 
spection the day after my arrival, so that I had only met them 
once on the morning of their departure. But with the rest of 
the telegraph staff, several of whom were married, I spent many 
pleasant hours, and often enjoyed a game of tennis with them 
in the garden where they dwelt. 

Hitherto I have spoken only of the lighter aspect of Persian 
life in Shiraz; of social gatherings where wine and music, dance 
and song, beguiled away the soft spring days, or the moonlit 
nights. It is time that I should turn to other memories—gathet- 
ings where no wine flowed and no music sounded; where grave 
faces, illumined with the light of inward conviction, and eyes 
gleaming with unquenchable faith, surrounded me; where the 
strains of the rebeck were replaced by low, earnest tones speaking 


SHIRAZ 325 


of God, of the New Light, of pains resolutely endured, and of 
triumph confidently expected. 

The memory of those assemblies can never fade from my mind; 
the recollection of those faces and those tones no time can efface. 
I have gazed with awe on the workings of a mighty Spirit, and 
I marvel whereunto it tends. O people of the Bab! sorely perse- 
cuted, compelled to silence, but steadfast now as at Sheykh 
Tabarsi and Zanjan, what destiny is concealed for you behind 
the veil of the Future? 








CHAPTER XI 


SHIRAZ (continued) 


“ Shirdz pur kawghd shavad, shakkar-labi peydd shavad; 
Tarsam k’ az dshtib-i-lab-ash bar ham zanad Baghddd-rd.” 


“Shiraz shall be full of tumult; one shall appear with lips sweet as sugar; 
I fear lest through the riot of his lips he may cast Baghdad into confusion.” 
“Fy ki mt-pursi xi rab-i-Ka‘ba-i-wasl-am nishan, 
ZL’ ustakhwan-i-kushtagan rabist sar td sar safid!” 


“O thou who askest a sign of the road to the Sanctuary of my Presence, 
It is a road white from beginning to end with the bones of the slain!” 


N attempting to convey a correct impression of past events, 

it is often difficult to decide how far their true sequence may 
be disregarded for the sake of grouping together things naturally 
related. To set down all occurrences day by day, as they actually 
took place, is undoubtedly the easiest, and, in some ways, the 
most natural plan. On the other hand, it often necessitates the 
separation of matters intimately connected with one another, 
while the mind is distracted rather than refreshed by the con- 
tinual succession of topics presented to it. For this reason I have 
thought it best to include in a separate chapter all that I have to 
say concerning my intercourse with the Babis in Shiraz. Had this 
intercourse been more closely interwoven with the social life 
which I have endeavoured to portray in the preceding chapter, 
such dissociation might have been inadvisable, and even im- 
possible. As it was, it was a thing apart; a separate life in a 
different sphere; a drama, complete in itself, with its own scenes 
and its own actots. 

Those who have followed me thus far on my journey will 
remember how, after long and fruitless search, a fortunate chance 


SHIRAZ 327 


at length brought me into contact with the Babis at Isfahan. They 
will remember also that the Babi apostle to whom I was intro- 
duced promised to notify my desire for fuller instruction to his 
fellow-believers at Shiraz, and that he further communicated to 
me the name of one whose house formed one of their principal 
resorts. I had no sooner reached Shiraz than I began to consider 
how I should, without attracting attention or arousing com- 
ment, put myself in communication with the person so desig- 
nated, who occupied a post of some importance in the public 
service which I will not more clearly specify. His name, too, 
I suppress for obvious reasons. Whenever I have occasion to 
allude to him, I shall speak of him as Mirza Muhammad. 

Whilst I was still undecided as to the course I should pursue, 
another unlooked-for event suddenly removed all difficulties. I 
have already mentioned Mirza ‘Ali, a young Persian with whom 
I had previously been intimately acquainted in Europe. Three 
days after my arrival he came to pay me a visit. I hardly recog- 
nised him at first, in the tall lambskin cap and long cloak which 
he wore, and was equally surprised and delighted at this un- 
expected meeting. He did not stay long, but before leaving 
invited me to come and see him on the following day. 

I had scarcely entered the room where he was waiting to 
receive me, when the cursory glance which I cast round was 
riveted by an Arabic text which hung on the wall. Yet it was 
not so much the Arabic chatacters which attracted my attention 
(though these too seemed in some way strangely familiar), as a 
line of writing beneath them. There was no mistaking the parallel 
oblique strokes and the delicate curves and spirals which sprang 
from them. Only once before had I seen that character in the 
hands of the Babi da//d/ at Isfahan. 

I withdrew my eyes from the tablet and turned them on Mirza 
‘Ali, who had been attentively watching my scrutiny. Our 
glances met, and I knew at once that my conjecture was right. 

“Do you know Mirza Muhammad?” I asked presently. 


328 | SHIRAZ 


“T know him well,” he replied; “it was he who informed 
me that you were coming. You have not seen him yet? Then 
I will take you there one day soon, and you shall meet other 
friends. I must find out when he will be disengaged, and arrange 
a time.” 

“T did not know,” said I, “that you....Tell me what you 
really think....” 

“T confess I am puzzled,” he answered. “‘Such eloquence, 
such conviction, such lofty, soul-stirring words, such devotion 
and enthusiasm! If I could believe any religion it would be that.” 

Before I left he had shown me some of the books which he 
possessed. One of these was a small work called Madaniyyat 
(“‘Crvilisation’’), lithographed in Bombay, one of the few secular 
writings of the Babis. Another was the Kztdb-i-Akdas (“Most 
Holy Book”’), which contains the codified prescriptions of the 
sect in a brief compass. The latter my friend particularly com- 
mended to my attention. 

“You must study this carefully if you desire to understand 
the matter,”’ he said; “I will get a copy made for you by our 
sctibe, whom you will also see at Mirz4 Muhammad’s. You 
should read it while you are here, so that any difficulties which 
atise may be explained. I am acquainted with a young Seyyid 
well versed in philosophy, who would perhaps come regularly 
to you while you are here. This would excite no suspicion, for 
it is known that you have come here to study.” 

Rejoiced as I was at the unexpected facilities which appeared 
to be opening out to me, there was one thing which somewhat 
distressed me. It was the B&b whom I had learned to regard as 
a hero, and whose works I desired to obtain and peruse, yet of 
him no account appeared to be taken. I questioned my friend 
about this, and learned (what I had already begun to suspect at 
Isfahan) that much had taken place amongst the Babis since those 
events of which Gobineau’s vivid and sympathetic record had 
so strangely moved me. That record was written while Mirza 


SHIRAZ 329 


Yahya, Subb-i-Exe/ (‘the Morning of Eternity”) was undisputed 
vicegerent of the Bab, and before the great schism occurted 
which convulsed the Babi community. Now, I found, the Bab’s 
writings were but little read even amongst his followers, for 
Beha had arisen as ““He whom God shall manifest”’ (the promised 
deliverer foretold by the Bab), and it was with his commands, 
his writings, and his precepts that the Babi messengers went 
forth from Acre to the faithful in Persia. Of Mirza Yahya, whom 
I had expected to find in the place of authority, I could learn 
little. He lived, he was in Cyprus, he wrote nothing, he had 
hardly any followers; that was all I was told, and I was forced to 
try to reconcile myself to the new, and at present, ill-compre- 
hended, position of affairs. At any rate I had found the Babis, 
and I should be able to talk with those who bore the name and 
revered the memory of one whom I had hitherto admired in 
silence—one whose name had been, since I entered Persia, a 
wotd almost forbidden. For the rest, I should soon learn about 
Beha, and understand the reasons which had led to his recog- 
nition as the inaugurator of a new dispensation. 

A day or two after the events narrated above I received another 
visit from Mirza ‘Ali, who was on this occasion accompanied 
by the young Babi Seyyid of whom he had spoken. They te- 
mained with me more than an hour, and the Seyyid talked much, 
asking me. numberless questions about anatomy, physiology, 
chemistry, and other sciences, but speaking little about his own 
views. Before they left it was arranged that on the following 
afternoon I should accompany them to the house of Mirza 
Muhammad. 

On the following afternoon I sallied forth to the house of 
Mirza “Ali, accompanied by my servant, Haji Safar, whom I 
would rather have left behind had I been able to find the way 
by myself. I met Mirza ‘Ali at the door of his house, and we 
proceeded at once to the abode of Mirza Muhammad. He was 
not in when we arrived, but appeared shortly, and welcomed me 


330 SHIRAZ 


very cordially. After a brief interval we were joined by another 
guest, whose open countenance and frank greeting greatly pre- 
disposed me in his favour. This was the scribe and missionary, 
Haji Mirza Hasan, to whose inopportune meeting with Murshid 
_ in my room I have already alluded. He was shortly followed by 
the young Seyyid who had visited me on the previous day, and 
another much older Seyyid of very quiet, gentle appearance, who, 
as I afterwards learned, was related to the Bab, and was therefore 
one of the Afndn (“Branches”’)—a title given by the Babis to 
all related, within certain degrees of affinity, to the founder of 
their faith. One or two of my host’s colleagues completed the 
assembly. 

I was at first somewhat at a loss to know how to begin, 
especially as several servants were standing about outside, 
watching and listening. I enquired of Mirza ‘Alf if I might speak 
freely before these, whereupon he signified to Mirza Muhammad 
that they should be dismissed. 

“Now,” he said, when this order had been given and obeyed, 
“speak freely, for there is no ‘ass’s head’ (ra’sw’l-himdr*) here.” 

I then proceeded to set forth what I had heard of the Bab, 
his gentleness and patience, the cruel fate which had overtaken 
him, and the unflinching courage wherewith he and his followers, 
from the greatest to the least, had endured the merciless torments 
inflicted on them by their enemies. 

“It is this,” I concluded, “‘which has made me so desirous 
to know what you believe; for a faith which can inspire a forti- 
tude so admirable must surely contain some noble principle.” 

Then began a discussion between myself on the one hand, 
and the young Seyyid and Haji Mirza Hasan on the other, of 
which I can only attempt to give a general outline. Disregarding 
those details of persons, past events, and literary history about 
which I was so desirous to learn, they proceeded to set forth 
the fundamental assumptions on which their faith is based in 


I See p. 300, supra. 


SHIRAZ 331 


a manner which subsequent experience rendered familiar 
to me. 

“The object for which man exists,” they said, “is that he 
should know God. Now this is impossible by means of his 
unassisted reason. It is therefore necessary that prophets should 
be sent to instruct him concerning spiritual truth, and to lay 
down ordinances for his guidance. From time to time, therefore, 
a prophet appears in the world with tokens of his divine mission 
sufficient to convince all who are not blinded by prejudice and 
wilful ignorance. When such a prophet appeats, it is incumbent 
on all to submit themselves to him without question, even though 
he command what has formerly been forbidden, or prohibit 
what has formerly been ordained.” 

“Stay,” I interposed; “‘surely one must be convinced that such 
prohibition or command is sanctioned by reason. If the doctrine 
ot ordinance be true, it must be agreeable to the idea of Absolute 
Good which exists in our own minds.” 

““We must be convinced by evidence approved by reason that 
he who claims to be a prophet actually is so,” they replied; “‘but 
when once we ate assured of this, we must obey him in every- 
thing, for he knows better than we do what is right and wrong. 
If it were not so, there would be no necessity for revelation at 
all. As for the fact that what is sanctioned in one ‘manifestation’ 
is forbidden in another, and vice versa, that presents no difficulty. 
A new prophet is not sent until the development of the human 
race renders this necessary. A revelation is not abrogated till it no 
longer suffices for the needs of mankind. There is no disagree- 
ment between the prophets: all teach the same truth, but in such 
measure as men can receive it. One spirit, indeed, speaks through 
all the prophets; consider it as the instructor (wurabbi) of man- 
kind. As mankind advance and progress, they need fuller 
instruction. The child cannot be taught in the same way as the 
youth, nor the youth as the full-grown man. So it is with the 
human trace. The instruction given by Abraham was suitable 


332. SHIRAZ 


and sufficient for the people of his day, but not for those to whom 
Moses was sent, while this in turn had ceased to meet the needs 
of those to whom Christ was sent. Yet we must not say that 
their religions were opposed to one another, but rather that 
each ‘manifestation’ is more complete and more perfect than 
the last.” 

“What you say is agreeable to reason,” I assented; “but tell 
me, in what way is the prophet to be recognised when he comes? 
By miracles, or otherwise?” 

“By miracles (if by miracles you mean prodigies conttraty to 
nature)—No!”’ they answered; “‘it is for such that the ignorant 
have always clamoured. The prophet is sent to distinguish the 
good from the bad, the believer from the unbeliever. He is the 
touchstone whereby false and true metal ate separated. But if 
he came with evident supernatural power, who could help 
believing? who would dare oppose him? The most rebellious 
and unbelieving man, if he found himself face to face with one 
who could raise the dead, cleave the moon, or stay the course of 
the sun, would involuntarily submit. The persecutions to which 
all the prophets have been exposed, the mockery to which they 
have been compelled to submit, the obloquy they have borne, 
all testify to the fact that their enemies neither feared them nor 
believed that God would support them; for no one, however 
foolish, however froward, would knowingly and voluntarily 
fight against the power of the Omnipotent. No, the signs 
whereby the prophet is known are these:—Though untaught 
in the learning esteemed of men, he is wise in true wisdom; 
he speaks a word which is creative and constructive; his word 
so deeply affects the hearts of men that for it they are willing 
to forgo wealth and comfort, fame and family, even life itself. 
What the prophet says comes to pass. Consider Muhammad. 
He was surrounded by enemies, he was scoffed at and opposed 
by the most powerful and wealthy of his people, he was derided 
as a madman, treated as an impostor. But his enemies have 


SHIRAZ 53 


passed away, and his word remains. He said, ‘You shall fast 
in the month of Ramazan,’ and behold, thousands and thousands 
obey that word to this day. He said, ‘You shall make a pilgrimage 
to Mecca if you ate able,’ and evety year brings thither countless 
pilgrims from all quarters of the globe. This is the special cha- 
ractet of the prophetic word; it fulfils itself; it creates; it triumphs. 
Kings and rulers strove to extinguish the word of Christ, but 
they could not; and now kings and rulers make it their pride 
that they are Christ’s servants. Against all opposition, against 
all persecution, unsupported by human might, what the prophet 
says comes to pass. This is the true miracle, the greatest possible 
miracle, and indeed the only miracle which is a proof to future 
ages and distant peoples. Those who ate privileged to meet the 
prophet may indeed be convinced in other ways, but for those 
who have not seen him his word is the evidence on which 
conviction must rest. If Christ raised the dead, you were not 
a witness of it; if Muhammad cleft the moon asunder, I was not 
there to see. No one can really believe a religion merely because 
miracles are ascribed to its founder, for are they not ascribed 
to the founder of every religion by its votaries? But when a 
man afises amongst a people, untaught and unsupported, yet 
speaking a wotd which causes empires to change, hierarchies to 
fall, and thousands to die willingly in obedience to it, that is 
a ptoof absolute and positive that the word spoken is from God. 
This is the proof to which we point in support of our religion. 
What you have already learned concerning its origin will suffice 
to convince you that in no previous ‘manifestation’ was it clearer 
and mote complete.” 

“T understand your argument,” I replied, “and it seems to 
mea weighty one. But I wish to make two observations. Firstly, 
it appeats to me that you must include amongst the number 
of the prophets many who arte ordinarily excluded, as, for 
example, Zoroaster; for all the proofs which you have enumerated 
were, so far as we can learn, presented by him. Secondly, though 


334 SHIRAZ 


I admit that your teligion possesses these proofs in a remarkable 
degree (at least so far as regards the rapidity with which it spread 
in spite of all opposition), I cannot altogether agree that the 
triumph of Islam was an instance of the influence of the prophetic 
_wotd only. The influence of the sword was certainly a factor 
in its wide diffusion. If the Arabs had not invaded Persia, slay- 
ing, plundering, and compelling, do you think that the religion 
of Muhammad would have displaced the religion of Zoroaster? 
To us the great proof of the truth of Christ’s teaching is that 
it steadily advanced in spite of the sword, not by the sword: 
the great reproach on Islam, that its diffusion was in so large 
a measure due to the force of arms rather than the force of 
atoument. I sympathise with your religion, and desire to know 
mote of it, chiefly because the history of its origin, the cruel fate 
of its founder, the tortures joyfully endured with heroic fortitude 
by its votaries, all remind me of the triumph of Christ, rather 
than the triumph of Muhammad.” 

““As to your first observation,” rejoined the Babi spokesman, 
“it is true, and we do recognise Zoroaster, and others whom the 
Musulmans reject, as prophets. For though falsehood may 
appeat to flourish for a while, it cannot do so for long. God will 
not permit an utterly false religion to be the sole guide of 
thousands. But with Zoroaster and other ancient prophets you 
and I have nothing to do. The question for you is whether 
another prophet has come since Christ: for us, whether another 
has come since Muhammad.” 

“Well,” I interrupted, “what about the propagation of Islam 
by the sword? For you cannot deny that in many countries it 
was so propagated. What right had Muhammad—what right 
has any prophet—to slay where he cannot convince? Can such 
a thing be acceptable to God, who is Absolute Good?” 

“A prophet has the right to slay if he knows that it is neces- 
saty,”’ answered the young Seyyid, “for he knows what is hidden 
from us; and if he sees that the slaughter of a few will prevent 


SHIRAZ 335 


many from going astray, he is justified in commanding such 
slaughter. The prophet is the spiritual physician, and as no one 
would blame a physician for sacrificing a limb to save the body, 
so no one can question the right of a prophet to destroy the 
bodies of a few, that the souls of many may live. As to what 
you say, that God is Absolute Good, it is undeniably true; yet 
God has not only Attributes of Grace but also Attributes of 
Wrath—He is A/Kahhadr (the Compeller) as well as A/Laitif 
(the Kind); A/+Muntakim (the Avenger) as well as A/+Ghafur 
(the Pardoner). And these Attributes as well as those must be 
manifested in the prophet, who 1s the God-revealing mirror.” 

“T do not agree with you there,” I answered. “I know very 
well that men have often attributed, and do attribute, such 
qualities as these to God, and it appears to me that in so doing 
they have been led into all manner of evil and cruelty, whereby 
they have brought shame on the name of their religion. I believe 
what one of your own poets has said: 

‘ Az Khayr-i-Mabz juz niki’i ndyad,’ 
‘Naught but good comes from Absolute Good,’ 

and we cannot falsify the meaning of words in such wise as to 
say that qualities which we universally condemn in man are 
good in God. To say that revenge in man is bad, while revenge 
in God is good, is to confound reason, stultify speech, and juggle 
with paradoxes. But, passing by this question altogether, you 
can hardly imagine that a prophet in whom the ‘Attributes of 
Wrath’ wete manifested could attract to himself such as have 
believed in a prophet in whom were reflected the ‘Attributes of 
Grace.’ Admitting even that a prophet sent to a very rude, 
ignorant, or frowatd people may be justified in using coercion 
to prepare the way for a better state of things, and admitting 
that Muhammad was so justified by the circumstances under 
which he was placed, still you cannot expect those who have 
learned the gentle teaching of Christ to revert to the harsher 
doctrines of Muhammad, for though the latter was subsequent 


336 SHIRAZ 


as tegards time, his religion was certainly not a higher develop- 
ment of the religion of Christ. I do not say that Muhammad 
was not a prophet; I do not even assert that he could or should 
have dealt otherwise with his people; but, granting all this, it 
is still impossible for anyone who has understood the teaching 
of Christ to prefer the teaching of Muhammad. You have said 
that the God-given message is addressed to the people of each 
epoch of time in such language as they can comprehend, in such 
measute as they can receive. Should we consider “me only, and 
not place? May it not be that since the stages of development 
at which different peoples living at the same time have arrived 
ate diverse, they may require different prophets and different 
religions? The child, as you have said, must be taught differently 
as he grows older, and the teacher accordingly employs different 
methods of instruction as his pupil waxes in years and under- 
standing, though the knowledge he sttives to impart remains 
always the same. But in the same school are to be found at one 
time pupils of many different ages and capacities. What is suit- 
able to one class is not suitable to another. May it not be the 
same in the spiritual world?” 

At this point there was some dissension in the assembly; 
the young Seyyid shook his head, and relapsed into silence; 
Mirza ‘Ali signified approval of what I had said; Haji Mirza 
Hasan strove to avoid the point at issue, and proceeded thus: 

“T have already said that what is incumbent on every man is 
that he should believe in the ‘manifestation’ of his own age. It 
is not required of him that he should discuss and compare all 
previous ‘manifestations.’ You have been brought up a follower 
of Christ. We have believed in this ‘manifestation’ which has 
taken place in these days. Let us not waste time in disputing 
about intermediate ‘manifestations.’ We do not desire to make 
you believe in Muhammad but in Beha. If you should be con- 
vinced of the truth of Beha’s teaching you have passed over the 
stage of Islam altogether. The last ‘manifestation’ includes and 


SHIRAZ 337 


sums up all preceding ones. You say that you could not accept 
Islam because its laws and ordinances are harsher, and, in your 
eyes, less perfect than those laid down by Christ. Very well, 
we do not ask you to accept Islam; we ask you to consider 
whether you should not accept Beha. To do so you need not 
go back from a gentle to a severe dispensation. Beha has come 
for the perfecting of the law of Christ, and his injunctions ate 
in all respects similar; for instance, we are commanded to prefer 
rather that we should be killed than that we should kill. It is the same 
throughout, and, indeed, could not be otherwise, for Beha zs 
Christ returned again, even as He promised, to perfect that 
which He had begun. Your own books tell you that Christ 
shall come ‘Uke a thief in the night, at a time when you are not 
expecting Him.” | 

“True,” I replied, “but those same books tell us also that His 
coming shall be ‘as the lightning, that lighteneth out of the one part 
under heaven and shineth unto the other part under heaven.” 

“There can be no contradiction between these two similes,”’ 
answered the Babi; “and since the phrase ‘/ke a thief in the 
night’ evidently signifies that when Christ returns it will be in 
a place where you do not expect Him, and at a time when you 
do not expect Him—that is, suddenly and secretly—it is clear 
that the comparison in the other passage which you quoted is 
to the suddenness and swiftness of the lightning, not to its 
universal vividness. If, as the Christians for the most part 
expect, Christ should come riding upon the clouds surrounded 
by angels, how could He be said in any sense to come ‘Uke a 
thief in the night’? Yveryone would see him, and, seeing, would 
be compelled to believe. It has always been through such con- 
siderations as these that men have rejected the prophet whose 
advent they professed to be expecting, because He did not come 
in some unnatural and impossible manner which they had vainly 
imagined. Christ was indeed the promised Messiah, yet the Jews, 
who had waited, and prayed, and longed for the coming of the 


Bay 22 


338 SHIRAZ 


Messiah, rejected Him when He did come for just such reasons. 
Ask a Jew now why he does not believe in Christ, and he will 
tell you that the signs whereby the Messiah was to be known 
were not manifest at His coming. Yet, had he understood what 
was intended by those signs, instead of being led away by vain 
traditions, he would know that the promised Messiah had come 
and gone and come again. So with the Christians. On a moun- 
taint close by Acre is a monastery peopled by Christian priests 
and monks, assembled there to await the arrival of Christ on 
that spot as foretold. And they continue to gaze upwards into 
heaven, whence they suppose that He will descend, while only 
a few miles off in Acre He das returned, and is dwelling amongst 
men as before. O be not blinded by those very misapprehen- 
sions which you condemn so strongly in the Jews! The Jews 
would not believe in Christ because He was not accompanied 
by a host of angels; you blame the Jews for their obstinacy and 
frowardness, and you do rightly. But beware lest you condemn 
yourselves by alleging the very same treason as an excuse for 
rejecting this ‘manifestation.’ Christ came to the Jews accom- 
panied by angels—angels none the less because they were in the 
guise of fishermen. Christ returns to you as Beha with angels, 
with clouds, with the sound of trumpets. His angels are His 
messengers; the clouds are the doubts which prevent you from 
recognising Him; the sound of trumpets is the sound of the 
proclamation which you now hear, announcing that He has come 
once more from heaven, even as He came before, not as a 
human form descending visibly from the sky, but as the Spirit 
of God entering into a man, and abiding there.” 

“Well,” I replied, “your arguments are strong, and certainly 
deserve consideration. But, even supposing that you are right 
in principle, it does not follow that they hold good in this 
particular case. If I grant that the return of Christ may be in 
such wise as you indicate, nevertheless mere assertion will not 


1 Mount Carmel. 


SHIRAZ 339 


prove that Beha is Christ. Indeed, we are told by Christ Himself 
that many will arise in His name, saying, ‘See here,’ or ‘See 
there,’ and ate warned not to follow them.” 

““Many have arisen falsely claiming to be Christ,” he answered, 
“but the injunction laid on you to beware of these does not mean 
that you ate to refuse to accept Christ when He does return. The 
very fact that there are pretenders is a proof that there is a 
reality. You demand proofs, and you are right to do so. What 
proofs would suffice for your” 

“The chief proofs which occur to me at this moment,” I 
replied, “‘are as follows:—You admit, so far as I understand, 
that in each ‘manifestation’ a promise has been given of a 
succeeding ‘manifestation,’ and that certain signs have always 
been laid down whereby that ‘manifestation’ may be recognised. 
It is therefore incumbent on you to show that the signs foretold 
by Christ as heralding His return have been accomplished in the 
coming of Beha. Furthermore, since each ‘manifestation’ must 
be fuller, completer, and more perfect than the last, you must 
prove that the doctrines taught by Beha are superior to the 
teaching of Christ—a thing which I confess seems to me almost 
impossible, for I cannot imagine a doctrine purer or mote 
elevated than that of Christ. Lastly, quite apart from miracles 
in the ordinary sense, there is one sign which we regard as the 
especial characteristic of a prophet, to wit, that he should have 
knowledge of events which have not yet come to pass. No sign 
can be more appropriate or more convincing than this. For a 
prophet claims to be inspired by God, and to speak of the 
mysteries of the Unseen. If he has knowledge of the Unseen 
he may well be expected to have knowledge of the Future. That 
we may know that what he tells us about other matters beyond 
our ken is true, we must be convinced that he has knowledge 
sutpassing outs in some matter which we can verify. This is 
afforded most readily by the foretelling of events which have not 
yet happened, and which we cannot foresee. These three signs 


22-2 


340 SHIRAZ 


appear to me both sufficient and requisite to establish such a 
claim as that which you advance for Beha.” 

“As regards knowledge of the future,” replied Haji Mirza 
Hasan, “‘I could tell you of many occasions on which Beha has 
given proof of such. Not only I myself, but almost all who 
have been at Acre, and stood in his presence, have received 
watnings of impending dangers, or information concerning 
forthcoming events. Some of these I will, if it please God, relate 
to you at some future time. As regards the superiority of Beha’s 
doctrines to those of Christ, you can judge for yourself if you 
will read his words. As regards the news of this ‘manifestation’ 
given to you by Christ, is it not the case that He promised to 
return? Did He not declare that one should come to comfort 
His followers, and perfect what He had begun? Did He not 
signify that after the Son should come the Father?” 

“Do you mean,” I demanded in astonishment, “‘that you 
regard Beha as the Father? What do you intend by this ex- 
pression? You cannot surely mean that you consider Beha to 
be God Himself?” 

“What do you mean by the expression ‘Son of God’?” 
returned the Babi. | 

“Our learned men explain it in different ways,” I answered; 
“but let us take the explanation which Christ Himself gave in 
answer to the same question—‘ As many as do the will of God 
ate the sons of God.’ Christ perfectly fulfilled the will of God; 
He had—as I understand it—reached the stage which your 
Sufis call ‘annihilation in God?’ (fend f’'lah); He had become 
merged in God in thought, in will, in being, and could say 
truly, ‘I am God.’ Higher than this can no one pass; how then 
can you call Beha ‘the Father,’ since ‘the Father’ is Infinite, 
Invisible, Omnipresent, Omnipotent?” 

“Suppose that in this assembly,” replied the other, “‘there 
wete one wiser than all the rest, and containing in himself all, 
and more than all, the knowledge which the others possessed 


SHIRAZ 341 


collectively. That one would be, in knowledge, the Father of all 
the others. So may Beha be called ‘the Father’ of Christ and of 
all preceding prophets.” 

“Well,” I answered, by no means satisfied with this explana- 
tion, “apart from this, which I will pass by for the present, it 
appeats to me that you confuse and confound different things. 
The coming of the Comforter is not the same thing, as we under- 
stand it, as the return of Christ, yet both of these you declare 
to be fulfilled in the coming of Beha. And whereas you spoke 
of Beha a little while ago as Christ returned, you now call him 
‘the Father.’ As regards the Comforter, we believe that he 
entered as the Holy Spirit into the hearts of the disciples soon 
after the Jews had put Christ to death. I know that the Muham- 
madans assert that the prophecies which we apply to this descent 
of the Holy Spirit were intended to refer to Muhammad; that 
for the word mapaxhyrtos they would substitute repexduros, which 
is in meaning nearly equivalent to Ahmad or Muhammad, 
signifying one ‘praised,’ or ‘illustrious.’ But if you, as I suppose, 
follow the Muhammadans in this, you cannot apply the same 
prophecy to Beha. If the promise concerning the advent of 
the Comforter was fulfilled in the coming of Muhammad, then 
it clearly cannot apply to the coming of Behd4. And, indeed, 
I still fail to understand in what light you regard Islam, and must 
return once more to the question concerning its relation to 
Christianity and to your religion which I put some time ago, 
and which I do not think you answered clearly. If news of the 
succeeding ‘manifestation’ is given by every messenger of God, 
surely it is confined to the ‘manifestation’ immediately succeeding 
that wherein it is given, and does not extend to others which lie 
beyond it. Assuming that you are right in regarding Islam as 
the completion and fulfilment of Christianity, your religion must 
be regarded as the completion and fulfilment of Isl4m, and the 
prophecies concerning it must then be sought in the Kur’4n 
and ‘Traditions rather than in the Gospel. It is therefore 


342 SHIRAZ 


incumbent on you, if you desite to convince me, first of all to 
ptove that Muhammad was the promised Comforter, and that 
his religion was the fulfilment of Christianity; then to prove that 
the coming of the Bab was foretold and signified by Muhammad; 
and only after this has been done, to prove that Beha is he whom 
the Bab foretold. For it is possible to believe in Muhammad and 
not to believe in the Bab, or to believe in the Bab and not to 
believe in Beh4, while the converse is impossible. If a Jew 
becomes a Muhammadan he must necessarily accept Christ; so 
ifa Muhammadan becomes a believer in Beha he must necessarily 
believe in the Bab.” 

“To explain the relations of Islam to Christianity on the one 
hand, and to this manifestation on the other, would require a 
longer time than we have at our disposal at present,” replied 
the Babi apologist; “but, in brief, know that the signs laid down 
by each prophet as characteristic of the next manifestation apply 
also to all future manifestations. In the books of each prophet 
whose followers still exist are recorded signs sufficient to con- 
vince them of the truth of the manifestation of their own age. 
There is no necessity for them to follow the chain link by link. 
Each prophet is complete in himself, and his evidence is con- 
clusive unto all men. God does not suffer His proof to be 
incomplete, or make it dependent on knowledge and erudition, 
for it has been seen in all manifestations that those who have 
believed were men whom the world accounted ignorant, while 
those who were held learned in religion were the most violent 
and bitter opponents and persecutors. Thus it was in the time of 
Christ, when fishermen believed in Him and became His dis- 
ciples, while the Jewish doctors mocked Him, persecuted Him, 
and slew Him. Thus it was also in the time of Muhammad, 
when the mighty and learned among his people did most 
furiously revile and reproach him. And although in this mani- 
festation—the last and the most complete—many learned men 
have believed, because the proofs were such as no fair-minded 


SHIRAZ 343 


man could resist, still, as you know, the Muhammadan doctors 
have evet shown themselves our most itreconcilable enemies, 
and our most strenuous opposers and persecutors. But those who 
are pure in heart and free from prejudice will not fail to recognise 
the manifestation of God, whenever and wherever it appears, 
even as Mawlana Jalalu’d-Din Rumi says in the Masnavi— 
* Dide’t bdyad ki bashad shah-shinds 
Td shindsad Shab-rd dar har hibdas.’ 
“One needs an eye which is king-recognising 
To recognise the King under every disguise.’”’ 

As it was growing late, and I desired to make use of the 
present occasion to learn further particulars about the literature 
of the Babis, I allowed the discussion to stand at this point, and 
ptoceeded to make enquities about the books which they prized 
most highly. In reply to these enquiries they informed me that 
Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad the Bab had composed in all about a 
hundred separate treatises of different sizes; that the name Beydnu 
was applied generally to all of them; and that the book which 
I described as having been translated into French by Gobineau 
must be that specially designated as the Kitdbw’/-Abkdm (“Book 
of Precepts”’). Beha, they added, had composed about the same 
number of separate books and letters. I asked if all these works 
existed in Shiraz, to which they replied, “‘No, they are scattered 
about the country in the hands of believers—some at Yezd, 
some at Isfahan, some in other places. In Shiraz the total number 
of separate works is altogether about a dozen.” 

“Tf that be so,” I remarked, “I suppose that some few works 
of greater value than the others are to be found in every com- 
munity of believers; and I should be glad to know which these 
ate, so that I may endeavour to obtain them.” 

“All that emanates from the Source (wasdar) is equal in 1m- 
portance,” they answered, “but some books are more systematic, 


mote easily understood, and therefore more widely read than 
others. Of these the chief are:—(1) The Kitdb-i-Akdas (‘Most 


3.44 SHIRAZ 


Holy Book’), which sums up all the commands and ordinances 
enjoined on us; (2) The Ikdn (‘Assurance’), which sets forth 
the proofs of our religion; (3) Dissertations on Science— 
astronomy, metaphysics, and the like—which we call Swwar-i- 
‘T/miyyé; (4) Prayers (Mundjdt) and Exhortations (Khufab). Besides 
these there is a history of the early events of this ‘manifestation,’ 
written by one who desired to keep his name secret.” 

“Can you get me these?” I enquired, “especially the Kztab-z- 
Akdas and the History (for I already possess the [kdu)? And was 
the writer of the History one of yourselves?” 

“T will get a transcript of the Kitdb-i-Akdas made for you if 
I can,” replied Mirza ‘Ali, “and meanwhile I will borrow a copy 
for you to tead. I daresay some of us can lend you the History 
also. It is not altogether good. The author devotes too large 
a portion of his work to abuse of the Muhammadan doctors and 
teflections on the Persian Government, while, on the other 
hand, he omits many events of real importance. Besides that, I 
do not like his pretence of being a French traveller; for we all 
know, and indeed anyone who teads his book can see, that he 
was not a European. I do not know his name, but I expect Haji 
Mirza Hasan does.” 

“T know it,” answered the person appealed to, “‘but it is a 
secret which I am not entitled to divulge, though, as the writer 
is dead now, it could make very little matter even were it gene- 
rally known. I may tell you this much, that he was one of the 
secretaries of Manakjit Sahib at Teheran. When he began to 
write he was quite impartial, but as he went on he became con- 
vinced by his investigations of the truth of the matter, and this 
change in his opinions is manifest in the later portion of the 


1 Manakji, the son of Limji Hushang Hataryari, was for many years 
maintained by the Parsees of Bombay at Teheran to watch over the interests 
of the Persian Zoroastrians. He died about the year 1890. Full particulars 
of the circumstances under which the New History here alluded to was 
composed will be found in the Introduction to my translation of that 
work. 


SHIRAZ 345 


wotk. The book was sent to the Supreme Horizon’ when it 
was finished, but was not altogether approved there, and I 
believe that another and mote accurate history is to be written ’. 
However, you will learn a good deal from this one.” 

“Have you got any of the poems of Kurratu’l-‘Ayn?” I 
demanded; “‘I have heard that she wrote poems, and should 
like very much to see some of them, and obtain copies.” 

“Yes,” they answered, “‘she wrote poems, and some of them 
are still extant; but we have none of them here in Shiraz. You 
would most likely find them, if anywhere, at Kazvin, her native 
place, at Hamadan, which she visited after her conversion, or at 
Teheran, where she suffered martyrdom. In Khurasan and 
Mazandaran, also, pe might be found, but here in the South it 
is difficult.” 

It was now past sunset, and dusk was drawing on, so I was 
reluctantly compelled to depart homewards. On the whole, I 
was well satisfied with my first meeting with the Babis of Shiraz, 
and looked forward to many similar conferences during my stay 
in Persia. They had talked freely and without testraint, had 
received me with every kindness, and appeared desirous of 
affording me every facility for comprehending their doctrines; 
and although some of my enquiries had not met with answers 
as cleat as I could have desired, I was agreeably impressed with 
the fairness, courtesy, and freedom from prejudice of my new 
acquaintances. Especially it struck me that their knowledge of 
Christ’s teaching and the gospels was much greater than that 
commonly possessed by the Musulmans, and I observed with 
pleasure that they regarded the Christians with a friendliness 
very gratifying to behold. 

Concerning the books, they were as good as their word. I 
received on the following day manuscripts of the History and of 


1 JI.e. Acre, the residence of Beha’u’llah, “the Sun of Truth.” 

2 The Traveller’s Narrative, composed by Beha’u’llah’s son, ‘Abbas Efendi, 
about the year 1886, was the outcome of this intention. It was published by 
me with a translation in 1891. 


3.46 SHIRAZ 


the Kitab-i- Akdas, and was told that I might keep them as long 
as I liked, but that a fresh copy of the latter would be made for 
me by Haji Mirza Hasan, the scribe. Both books were finally, 
ere I left Persia, made over to meas a free gift, and are now in my 
possession. 

Four days after the conference described above, I received a 
note from Mirza ‘Ali informing me that Haji Mirza Hasan had 
come to see him, and that I might join them if I wished. Of course 
I hastened thither at once, taking with me the Kztab-i-Akdas 
(which I had meanwhile tread through) to ask the explanation 
of certain passages which I had been unable fully to understand. 
Most of these Haji Mirza Hasan explained to me, but the very 
complicated law of inheritance he could not altogether elucidate. 
In answer to my question whether polygamy was sanctioned by 
their religion, he replied that two wives are a/lowed, but believers 
ate tecommended to limit themselves to one. I then enquired 
whether it was true, as asserted by Gobineau, that circumcision 
had been abolished. He answered that it was ignored, being a 
thing altogether indifferent. Sundry other points wherein the 
ordinances of the new religion differed from those of Islam, such 
as the prohibition of shaving the head or wearing long locks 
(zu/f) like the Persians, and the regulations for prayer, were then 
discussed. 

Two days later Mirza “Ali again paid mea visit, and remained 
for about two hours. From him I learned sundry particulars 
about the Babis of which his European education had enabled 
him to appreciate the interest, but which would probably never 
have been mentioned to me by Haji Mitrz4 Hasan or my other 
friends, who, as is so often the case in the East, could not under- 
stand a mere desire for information as such, and who therefore 
would speak of little else but the essential doctrines of their 
religion. Amongst other things he told me that, besides the new 
writing (known only to a few), many of the Babis had cornelian 
seals on which was cut a curious device. These seals were all 


SHIRAZ 347 


engraved by a certain dervish belonging to the sect, who spent 
his life in travelling from town to town. The device in question, 
which I subsequently saw, is shaped thus:— 





As to its significance! Mirza “Ali professed himself ignorant. 
I questioned him about the prophecies of Beha alluded to at the 
house of Mirza Muhammad, and he replied that I had better ask 
Haji Mirza Hasan, who had been much at Acre, and knew far 
more about them than he did. One of the best known instances, 
he added, was connected with the history of the martyrs of 
Isfahan. Soon after their death, Sheykh Bakir, who had been 
chiefly instrumental in bringing it about, received a terrible 
letter of denunciation from Acte, wherein it was announced 
that he would shortly die in disgrace and ignominy, which 
actually occurred a little while afterwards. “‘Sheykh Bakir’s 
miserable end is a matter of notoriety in Persia,” concluded my 
friend, “but I will try to get Haji Mirza Hasan or one of the 
others to show you the epistle in which it is foretold, and to 
relate to you all the details of the matter, for I quite understand 
the importance which you attach to prophecy in the sense in 
which you commonly understand it in Europe.” About sunset 
Mirza ‘Alf rose to depart, but before leaving invited me to spend 
the next day in a garden near Masjid-Bardi which belonged to 
him. “I shall ask Haji Mirza Hasan and some other friends,” 
he added, “and we can discuss matters undisturbed and 


1 I have since learned that it is a monogram of Beha’s name. Cf. p. 522 dénfra. 


3.48 SHIRAZ 


uninterrupted, for I shall take care not to have any prating inquisi- 
tive servants about; only my faithful black, and one or two others 
onwhomlIcan rely.” I gladly accepted the invitation and we parted. 

Early next morning I met my friend and Haji Mirza Hasan 
at the gate of the city. As soon as I percetved them I gave Haji 
Safar permission to withdraw, telling him that I should not need 
him again before evening. When he was gone, Mirza ‘Ali in- 
formed me that the other guests would proceed independently 
to the garden, as it was perhaps inadvisable for all of us to be 
seen together. After a pleasant walk of about forty minutes 
(for I had entreated my friend to dispense with horses) we 
reached the garden, and betook ourselves to an upper chamber 
in a little summer-house standing in its midst. Though the day 
was cloudy, no rain fell till 10.30 a.m., by which time all the 
other guests had arrived. These were three in number, all men 
past middle age, grave and venerable in appearance. Two of 
them, both Seyyids, and both of the number of the Afndn’, 
I had met already. The third wore a white turban, and brought 
with him, concealed beneath his cloak, two books. 

After the usual interchange of greetings, Mirza ‘Ali suggested 
to the possessor of the books that he should read a portion aloud; 
and the Epistle addressed to Napoleon III, exhorting him to 
believe and warning him of his approaching humiliation, was 
accordingly chosen as containing one of the most remarkable 
prophecies of Beha. The prophecy in question I have published 
elsewhere” in an account given to the Royal Asiatic Society of 
the Literature and Doctrines of the Babis, but two vetses of it 
may be repeated here. * They run as follows:— 


“Because of what thou hast done, affairs shall be changed in thy kingdom, and 
empire shall depart from thine hands, as a punishment for thine action.... 

“Thy glory hath made thee proud. By my life! It shall not endure, but shall pass 
away, unless thou takest hold of this firm rope. We have seen humiliation hastening 
after thee, while thou art of those that sleep.” 


1 See above, p. 330. 
2 Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, October 1889, p. 968. 


SHIRAZ 3.49 


When the reader ceased, I asked for permission to examine 
the books, which was readily accorded. The one from which 
the Epistle to Napoleon had been read, contained, besides this, 
the whole of the Kitdb-i-Akdas, and the other Epistles addressed 
to the rulers of the principal countries in Europe and Asia. ‘These 
comprised letters to the Queen of England, the Emperor of 
Russia, the Shah of Persia, and the Pope of Rome, as well as one 
addressed to a Turkish minister who had oppressed the Babis. 
I asked when these were written, but no one present seemed 
to know the exact date, though they thought that it was about 
twenty years before, when Beha was in Adrianople. Besides these 
“Epistles to the Kings” (Adydb-i-Saldtin) were one ot two other 
letters addressed to believers, amongst which was one written 
to the Babi missionary whom I had met at Isfahan while he was 
in exile at Khartoum with Haji Mirza Hasan. These epistles 
were, as I learned, known collectively as the Sw#ra-i-Heykal*. 

The other book was a larger volume, containing many s#ras 
without name or title, some of considerable length, some quite 
short. This collection was termed by my companions “The 
Perspicuous Book” (Kitdb-i-Mubin). While I was engaged in 
examining it breakfast was announced, and we repaired to an 
adjoining room, where a sumptuous repast of savoury pi/dws 
and childws, prawns, melons, and other delicacies was laid out. 
I wished to take my place on the floor with the other guests, 
but this Mirza ‘Ali would not permit, saying that he knew | 
should be more comfortable if I would sit at the table which he 
had provided expressly for me. | 

After the meal one or two of the guests lay down to sleep 
for a while, and in the narrower circle conversation seemed to 
flow mote freely. I succeeded at length in inducing my Babi 


1 Abstracts of these letters were published by me in English in the Journal 
of the Royal Asiatic Society for October 1889, and the full text of the S#ra-z- 
Heykal has been edited by Baron Rosen in vol.'vi of the Collections Scientifiques 
de |’ Institut des Langues Orientales (St Petersburg, 1891). Of this edition I 
published a notice in the J.R.A.S. for April 1892. 


350 SHIRAZ 


friends to give me some further account of the Bab, and of the 
history of their faith. The sum of what they told me was as 
follows:— 

Each of the prophets is the ‘“‘manifestation” of one of the 
Names (or Attributes) of God. The name manifested in the 
Bab was the highest of all—Wdpid, the One. Hence it is that 
I9 is amongst the Babis the sacred number according to which 
all things are arranged—the months of the year, the days of the 
month, the chapters in the Beydy, the fines imposed for certain 
offences, and many other things. For 19 is the numerical value 
of the word Wdpid according to the abjad notation, in which 
each letter has a numerical equivalent, and each word a cortre- 
sponding number, formed by the addition of its component 
letters. This sacred number was manifested even at the first 
appearance of the Bab, for eighteen of his fellow-students at 
once believed in him. These eighteen are called “the Letters of 
the Living” (Hurifdt-i-Hayy), because they wete the creative 
agents employed by the Bab for bestowing new life upon the 
world, and because the numerical value of the word Hayy is 18. 
All of them were inspired and pervaded by the Bab, the One 
(Waid), and with him constitute the manifested Unity (Wahid) 
of 19. Thus the visible church on earth was a type of the one 
God, one in Essence, but revealed through the Names, whereby 
the Essence can alone be comprehended. But this is not all. Each 
of the nineteen members of the “‘Unity” gained nineteen con- 
vetts, so that the primitive church comprised 361 persons in all. 
This is called “The Number of All Things” (“adad-i-kulli shey), 
for 361 is the square of 19 and the further expansion thereof, 
and it is also the numerical equivalent of the words ku//i shey, 
which mean “All Things.” This is why the Babi year, like the 
Beydn, 1s atranged according to this number in nineteen months 
of nineteen days each. But the Babi year is a solar year con- 
taining 366 days. These five additional days are added at the 
beginning of the last month, which is the month of fasting, and 


SHIRAZ 351 


ate commanded to be spent in entertaining one’s friends and the 
poor, as it is written in the Kitab-1- Akdas— 

“Place the days which are in excess over the months before the month of fasting. 
Verily we have made them the manifestations of the [letter] Hi [= 5| amongst the 
nights and days. Therefore are they not comprised within the limits of the months. It 
is incumbent on such as are in Behd to feed therein themselves, and their relatives; 
then the poor and distressed....And when the days of giving [which are| before the 
days of withholding are finished, let them enter upon the fast.” 

Immediately after the month of fasting comes the great 
festival of the Nawr#z, which inaugurates a new year. That the 
old national festival, which marks the period when the sun again 
resumes his sway after the dark cold winter is past and the earth 
again clothes herself with verdure, should be thus consecrated 
again by the Babis is one sign amongst many of the Persian 
genius by which the new faith was inspired. 

Sheykh Ahmad Ahsa’i, who taught at Kerbela about the 
beginning of the nineteenth century, first began to hint darkly 
that the days wherein the promised Imam should appear were at 
hand. When he died (4.p. 1826) his pupil, Haji Seyyid Kazim 
of Resht, succeeded him, and spoke mote clearly on the same 
theme, especially towards the end of his life. Amongst the 
number of those who attended his lectures were Mirza ‘Ali 
Muhammad: the Bab, and Haji Muhammad Karim Khan of 
Kirman. Now when the former arose and declared himself to 
be the promised Imam, foretold by the lately deceased teacher, 
the latter strenuously opposed him, and claimed the supremacy 
for himself. And some followed Karim Khan, whilst others (and 
these were the majority) recognised the claim of Mirza ‘Ali 
Muhammad the Bab. These latter were henceforth called Babis, 
while the former retained the title of Sheykhis, thereby im- 
plying that they were the true exponents of the doctrine of 
Sheykh Ahmad, and that the Babis had departed therefrom; for 
before that time all alike who accepted the Sheykh’s teaching 
were called by this name. Thus it is that, although the Bab and 
the majority of his disciples had previously to the “‘manifesta- 


352 SHIRAZ 


tion” been called Sheykhis, the Sheykhis of to-day (¢.e. the 
followers of Karim Khan of Kirman) are the bitterest and fiercest 
enemies of the Babis. 

Beha, whose proper name is Mirza Huseyn ‘Ali, of Nur, in 
Mazandaran, was one of those who believed in the Bab. He 
was arrested at Amul on his way to join the Babis, who, under 
the leadership of Mulla Huseyn of Bushraweyh, were entrenched 
at Sheykh Tabarsi. In 1852 he narrowly escaped death in the 
great persecution wherein the intrepid Suleyman Khan, the 
brilliant and beautiful Kurratu’l“Ayn, and a host of others, 
suffered martyrdom. It was proved, however, that he had but 
just arrived at Teheran, and could not have had any share in the 
plot against the Shah wherein the others were accused of being 
involved, so his life was spared, and, after an imprisonment of 
about four months, he was allowed to leave Persia and take up 
his residence at Baghdad. Mirza Yahya, “ Subp-7-Exel”’ (“the 
Morning of Eternity”), Beha’s half-brother (then only about 
twenty-two years of age), was at that time recognised as the Bab’s 
successor, having been designated as such by the Bab himself, 
shortly before he suffered martyrdom at Tabriz. His supremacy 
was tecognised, at least nominally, by all the Babis during the 
eleven years’ sojourn of their chiefs at Baghdad, but even then 
Beha took the most prominent part in the organisation of affairs, 
the carrying on of correspondence, and the interviewing of 
visitors. In 1863 the Ottoman Government, acceding to the 
urgent requests of the Persian authorities, removed all the Babis, 
including Beha and Mirza Yahya, “Swbp-i-Exe/,” from Baghdad 
to Constantinople, and thence to Adrianople, where they arrived 
about the end of the year. Here at length Beha cast aside the 
veil, proclaimed himself as ““He whom God shall manifest,” 
whose coming the Bab had foretold, and called on all the Babis, 
including Mirza Yahya, “‘Swbp-i-Exe/,” to acknowledge his claim 
and submit to his authority. Many of the Babis did so at once, 
and their number increased as time went on, so that now the 


SHIRAZ 353 


great majority of them are followers of Beha, though a few still 
adhere to Mirza Yahya, and these are called Ezelis. But at first 
the disproportion between the Beha’is and the Ezelis was but 
slight, and the rivalry between them was great, resulting, indeed, 
in some bloodshed. So‘ the Turkish Government decided to 
separate them, and accordingly sent Beha and his followers to 
Acre in Syria, and Mirza Yahya and his family to Famagusta in 
Cyprus. Now the reason why Beha was sent to Acte was, as 
his followers assert, that its climate is exceedingly unhealthy, 
and that it was hoped that he might die there. For the Persian 
ambassador, the French minister, and ‘Ali Pasha, the Turk, had 
consulted together as to the means whereby the new faith might 
be crushed. The Persian suggested that Beha should be killed, 
but the Turk refused to do this openly, saying that it would be 
a much better plan to send him and his followers to a place 
where they would soon die. But Beha divined their wicked 
intention, and rebuked it in the “Epistles to the Kings,” de- 
claring that ‘Ali Pasha should die in exile, and the power of 
France fail before the foe, while he remained unharmed in the 
place whither they had sent him. And these things were ful- 
filled; for two years later France began to recoil before the 
German atms, while ‘Ali Pasha died far from his native land. 
But Beha continued to live and prosper, and even dreary Acte 
smiled with fresh gardens and seemed to gain a purer air!. 

And now, the afternoon being far advanced, it was time to 
retrace our steps to the city. The rain had ceased and the evening 
was soft and balmy, but the roads were terribly muddy. In spite 
of this we had a pleasant walk back to the town, where we 
atrived a little before dusk, after a most delightful day. 

On the morrow, as I was sitting in my room after breakfast 


1 I give this account as it was given to me by the Babis of Shiraz, but I do 
not think that it is altogether correct. For instance, I think that not ‘Ali 
Pasha, but Fu’d4d Pasha, who actually died at Nice in 1869, was the Turkish 
statesman concerned. 


B 23 


354 SHIRAZ 


wondering what to do, a note came from Mirza “Ali asking me 
to be ready at 3 p.m. to accompany him to the house of one of 
the Afndn (i.e. a member of the Bab’s family), and meanwhile 
to ptepate any questions which I might desire to ask, as I should 
meet there one of the most learned Babis in Shiraz, whose mani- 
fold and undisputed talents had caused his co-religionists to 
bestow on him the title of Kdmi/t (“Perfect”’). Joyfully signify- 
ing my acceptance of the invitation, I sat down to glance hastily 
through the Kitdb-i-Akdas and make notes of such passages as 
presented any difficulty. At the appointed time Mirza ‘Ali’s 
black servant came to conduct me to the place of meeting, 
where, besides some of those whom I had met in the garden on 
the previous day, the illustrious Kamil himself was present. After 
the customaty greetings were over, I was invited to lay my 
difficulties before him, an invitation with which I hastened to 
comply. 

My first question related to the laws of inheritance and the 
pattition of property, but here I was not more fortunate than 
On a ptevious occasion, even Kamil being compelled to admit 
that he could not altogether comprehend them. I therefore 
passed on to the passage in the Kztdb-i-Akdas wherein the 
‘Pilgrimage to the House” (Hayjw’/-Beyt) is enjoined on all male 
believers who are able to perform it, and enquired what was 
meant by “‘the House” in question. To this Kamil replied that 
the house in Shiraz wherein the Bab formerly dwelt was in- 
tended. I asked eagerly if I might not be permitted to visit it 
while in Shiraz, whereat they looked doubtfully at one another, 
and said that they would try to manage it, but that it was difficult 
—fitstly, because the present inmates of the house were all 
women; secondly, because the house was well-known to the 
Musulmans, who would not fail to remark so unusual an event 
as the visit of a Firangi to a Babi shrine. 


1 His actual title was similar to, but not identical with, this. Considera- 
tions of expediency have led me to alter it as above. 


SHIRAZ 355 


My third question telated to the following verse:— 


“It is not meet for any one to demand pardon before another; repent unto God 
in presence of yourselves; verily He is Forgiving, Bounteous, Mighty, (and) Snift 
to repent.” : 

“What does this prohibition refer to?” I demanded of Kamil. 

“To the power which your priests claim of absolving men of 
sin,” he replied. 

“But surely,” I urged, “since this claim is in the first place 
confined to Christendom, and in the second place is limited to 
the priests of one sect amongst the Christians, it seems hardly 
necessary to prohibit it here.” 

“Tt is not confined to Christians,” he replied, “for the mul/as 
here claim very similar powers, though perhaps they formulate 
them in a less definite. manner. When a man has embezzled or 
extorted money, and his conscience pricks him, he goes before 
one of our clergy and states the case to him, whereupon the 
latter takes a small sum from him in the name of religion, and 
declares the remainder purified thereby. All such tricks of 
priests and mu//ds are forbidden in this verse.” 

The fourth question which I put forward provoked a more 
fruitful discussion. It telated to the verse wherein the Sufis 
and others who lay claim to inward knowledge are condemned 
in the following terms:— 


*¢ And there are amongst them such as lay claim to the inner and the inmost (mystery). 
Say, ‘O liar! By God, what thou hast is but husks which we have abandoned to you 
as bones are abandoned to the dogs.’” 

“Surely,” I demanded, “not only is the doctrine of the Sufis 
in many ways near akin to your own, but it is also purer and 
more spiritual by far than the theology of the mul/ds. Do you 
condemn Mansur-i-Hallaj for saying, ‘I am the Truth’ (And’h 
FHlakk), when Beha makes use of the same expression? Do you 
regard Jalalu’d-Din Rumi as a liar when you continually make 
use of the Masnavi to illustrate your ideas?” 

“No,” answered Kamil, “assuredly Mansur and Jalalu’d-Din 


23-2 


356 SHIRAZ 


spoke with a true inspiration. This verse in no wise applies to 
them, nor to any of the Sufis of past days; these were illumined 
with a true light in such wise that many of them clearly hinted 
at this ‘manifestation,’ as, for example, Hafiz does, where he 
says— 

‘Ey sabd, gar bigzari bar sabil-t-rid-i-Aras 

Busé zan bar khak-i-dn wddt, va mushkin kun nafas? 


*O zephyt, if thou passest by the banks of the river Araxes, 
Implant a kiss on the earth of that valley, and make fragrant thy breath.’ 


For it was in the fortress of Maku, by the Araxes, that His 
Highness the Point of Revelation (7.e. the Bab) spent the last 
three years of his life. Those intended by the verse in question 
ate such as would oppose a pretended inward illumination to 
the full light of the present ‘manifestation.’” 

“So far as I understand you, then,” I replied, “you admit 
the Sufi doctrine, that a man may, by self-renunciation and in- 
tense abstraction, attain to the degree of ‘Annihilation in God,’ 
and that in this condition he may truly say, ‘Iam God,’ inasmuch 
as he has forgone self, escaped from the illusions of plurality, 
and realised the unity of True Being. If this be so, I do not 
clearly understand in what way you regard the prophet as his 
superior, for surely no degree can be higher than this. As your 
proverb says, “There is no colour beyond black’ (ba/d-tar az 
Siyadh rangi nist). Still less do I see how you can speak of one 
prophet as superior to another, unless you place all but the 
highest in a lower rank than the Sufi who has attained to absorp- 
tion into the Divine Essence.” 

“When we speak of one prophet as superior to another,”’ 
answered Kamil, “we speak in a manner purely relative, for 
the Universal Spirit (Rw#)-i-Ku///) speaks through all of them 
alike. But inasmuch as they speak in divers manners, according 
to the capacity of their hearers, and according to the requirements 
of time and place, to us they appear in different degrees of per- 
fection. The sun, for example, is the same to-day as it was 


SHIRAZ | 857 


yesterday, yet we say, ‘To-day it is hotter than it was yesterday,’ 
because we enjoy a fuller measure of its heat. But we do not by 
this expression mean to imply that there is any alteration in the 
sun itself. In the World: of Ideas, regard the Universal Spirit 
as the sun which rises in each ‘manifestation’ from a different 
horizon. Or regard it as the Instructor of mankind, speaking 
always to those whom it addresses in a manner suitable to their 
comprehension, just as a teacher instructs children in the alphabet, 
boys in grammar, youths of riper age in logic, rhetoric, and other 
sciences, and full-grown men in philosophy. The teacher is 
always one and the same, but he manifests himself more or less 
perfectly according to the aptitude of those whom he addresses. 
So it is with the Universal Spirit, which speaks through all the 
prophets: only its outward vestment changes, and the phrase- 
ology of which it makes use; its essence and the message which 
it utters are ever the same. And since this Universal Spirit is 
Absolute Good, we must believe that it always has a manifesta- 
tion in the world; for it is better that a tree should continually 
bear fruit than that it should only bear fruit at long intervals, 
and we ate bound to attribute all that is best to the Spirit. Hence 
it follows that during the long intervals which separate one 
prophetic dispensation from the next, there must be in the world 
silent manifestations of the Spirit intrinsically not less perfect 
than the speaking manifestations whom we call prophets. The 
only difference is that a ‘claim’ (cddi‘d) is advanced in the one 
case and not in the other. And it is only to this claim that the 
vetse about which you enquire refers, as likewise does the vetse, 
‘Whosoever claimeth a dispensation before the completion of a full 
thousand years is indeed a lying impostor?” 

I now put to Kamil the following question, which I had 
already propounded in my first meeting with the Babis of 
Shiraz:—“If the references to Christ’s coming which occur in 
the Gospel refer to this manifestation, then they cannot be ap- 
plied, as they are by the Muslims, to Muhammad; in which case 


358 SHIRAZ 


Muhammad’s coming was not foretold by Christ, and Islam loses 
a ptoof which, as I understand, you regard as essential to every 
dispensation, viz. that it shall have been foreshadowed by the 
bearer of the last dispensation.” ‘To this he replied that in each 
dispensation announcement was made of future manifestations 
in general, and that what Christ said concerning His return ap- 
plied equally to the advent of Muhammad, and of the Bab, and 
of Beha. Muhammad’s title, Khdtamu’l-Anbiyd (“Seal of the 
Prophets’’), did not, he explained, signify, as the Muhammadans 
generally suppose, “the last of the Prophets,” as is proved by 
a passage occutring in one of the prayers used by pilgrims to 
Kerbela and Nejef, wherein Muhammad is called ‘“‘the Seal of 
‘the prophets who have gone before, and the Key of those who 
are to come.” 

“Do you,” I asked, “‘regard Zoroaster as a true prophet?” 

“Assutedly,” he replied, ‘inasmuch as every religion which 
has become current in the world, and has endured the test of 
time, must have contained at least some measure of truth, 
however much it may have been subsequently corrupted. Only 
a Divine Word can strongly affect and continuously control 
men’s hearts: spurious coin will not pass, and the uninterrupted 
currency of a coin is the proof of its genuineness. The architect 
is proved to be an architect by his ability to construct a house; 
the physician is shown to be a physician by healing sickness; and 
the prophet vindicates his claim to the prophetic office by estab- 
lishing a religion. These two things are his sufficient proof, and 
these only: that he has wisdom immediate and God-given, not 
acquired from men; and that his word so penetrates and controls 
men that for its sake they are willing to give up all that they most 
ptize, and even to lay down their lives.” 

So completely was Kamil dominated by this conception of 
the nature of the proof required to establish a claim to prophet- 
hood, that I could not make him see the importance of any 
other evidence. “Had the Bab,” I enquired, “explicitly or by 


SHIRAZ 359 


implication signified the attributes, qualities, or personal pecu- 
liarities of his successor?” ‘“No,” he answered, “he merely 
spoke of him as ‘Man yudh-hiruhu’lldh’ (‘He whom God shall 
manifest’), without further describing him.” “Could not dates 
of publication be proved for some of the prophecies wherein, as 
I had heard, Beha had foretold the downfall of Napoleon the 
Third, the assassination of the late Emperor of Russia, and other 
events of general notoriety?”? Kamil thought that very possibly 
they could, but he evidently attached no importance to the 
question, and did not consider that the power of foretelling 
future events was any proof of a divine mission. As to the right 
of a prophet to inflict death, openly or secretly, on those who 
stubbornly opposed him, he took exactly the same view as the 
young Babi Seyyid whom I had previously questioned on this 
matter. A prophet was no mote to be blamed for removing an 
obdurate opponent than a surgeon for amputating a gangrenous 
limb. 

Before I left I was shown several books and epistles which I 
had not previously seen. Amongst the latter was one addressed 
to a Christian, and another containing consolations addressed 
to one of Mirza ‘Ali’s uncles on the occasion of his father’s 
death and his own bankruptcy, on account of which (for he 
had failed to the extent of 60,000 t#mdns) he was then in sanctuary 
at the Masjid-i-Naw. I was also shown a specimen of the Khaft-i- 
tanzilt, or ““revelation-writing”’; z.e. the almost illegible draft of 
Beha’s utterances made by his amanuensis, Aka Mirza Ak4 Jan, 
called Khddimu’udh (“the Servant of God”’), who, as I was in- 
formed, wrote with such speed that he could take down 1500 
vetses in an hour, this being, as it appears, the maximum of 
rapidity attained by Beha’s revelations. Very few, however, save 
the amanuensis himself, could read this “revelation-writing.” 

A seal, on which was inscribed the name Huseyn, both in the 
Arabic character and in the Khatt-7-badi‘, or new writing invented 
by the Babis, was also shown to me by one of those present. This 


360 SHIRAZ 


new wtiting bears some superficial resemblance to the Armenian 
character. Each letter consists of a thick oblique stroke descend- 
ing from right to left, to which are appended various fine curves 
and flourishes, all the thick lines being parallel and equidistant. 
I finally left at about eight o’clock, one of my Babi friends re- 
marking on the quick flight of the time, which, he added, was 
due, in their belief, to the fact that in spiritual converse such as 
we had held the soul soars above the limitations of Time and 
Space, and ceases to take cognisance of them. 

A few days after this I again called on my friend Mirza ‘Ali. 
Shortly after my arrival, Haji Mirza Hasan joined us, and for 
neatly three hours we talked without intermission about the 
Babi religion, save for a short time, when we were interrupted 
by an “‘ass’s head.” ! The conversation ran, for the most part, 
on announcements of coming events by Beha, of which Haji 
Mirza Hasan related the following instances from his own pet- 
sonal experience:— 

“You have heard of the “Martyrs of Isfahan,’”’? said he. 
“Well, shortly before their death I was at Acre with Haji Mirza 
Hasan ‘Ali, whom you met at Isfahdn, and Aka Seyyid Hadi. 
A day or two before the time fixed for our return to Persia we 
were with Beha, in a garden whither he sometimes repairs. He 
was seated, and we, according to our- custom, were standing 
before him. Presently he bade us sit down, and ordered an 
attendant to give us tea. While we were drinking it he said, ‘A 
great event will shortly take place in Persia.’ In the evening 
Aka Seyyid Hadi privately enquired of him where this event 
would happen, and was informed that it would be in the ‘Land 
of Sad’ (Isfahan). Seyyid Hadi wrote to some of his friends in 
Persia, and in his letter mentioned this prophecy. When we 
reached Persia, Haji Mirza Hasan ‘Ali remained at Teheran, while 
I continued my journey towards Isfahan. At Kashan I was met 
by the news of the martyrs’ arrest. As they were very rich I 


I See p. 300, supra. 2 See pp. 232-4, supra. 


SHIRAZ 361 


confidently anticipated that they would be able to regain their 
liberty by means of a heavy bribe to the authorities; neither did 
I connect this news with Beha’s prophecy, for I rather under- 
stood that as pointing to some general catastrophe, such as a 
plague, famine, or earthquake. Four or five days later, however, 
came the news of their martyrdom, and I, instead of proceeding 
to Isfahan, turned back to Teheran, knowing now that this was 
the event foreshadowed by Behat. At the execution the Imdm- 
Jum‘a, seeing the headsman waver, had put his hand to his 
throat, and said, ‘If there be any sin in this, let it be upon my 
neck!’ Shortly afterwards he fell into disgrace, and retired to 
Mashhad, where he was attacked with abscesses in the throat 
(kKhandzir), of which he died. About a month after the death of 
the martyrs, Sheykh Bakir received a letter from Acre containing 
the most terrible denunciations and prophecies of misfortune’. 
He subsequently went to Kerbela. On returning thence to 
Isfahan he discovered that both his wife and his daughter (who 
was extremely beautiful) had been seduced by the prince- 
governor. His complaints and demands for redress resulted 
only in the production of a letter from his wife to her paramour, 
proving that she had made the first advances. Other troubles 
and misfortunes succeeded this, and Sheykh Bakir presently 
died, as Beha had foretold, without having been able to enjoy 
his ill- “gotten gains. 

“This is one instance of Beha’s prescience, About which you 
enquired. I will give you another, in which I myself was more 
closely concerned; but indeed such experiences are common to 
most of us who have been privileged to hold intercourse with 
out Master. I and Haji Mirza Hasan ‘Ali, whom you saw at 
Isfahan, had been to visit Beha at Adrianople before he was 


1 Haji Mirza Hasan here added an account of the events which had led to 
the death of the two Seyyids. This I have already given at pp. 232-3, supra, So 
I will not repeat it here. 

2 Mirza ‘Ali told me that he had himself seen and copied this letter when 
a boy, before the calamities which it foreshadowed had befallen Sheykh Bakir. 


362 SHIRAZ 


transferred to Acre. We received instructions to proceed thence 
to Egypt to encourage the Babis resident there, and to avert a 
threatened schism. On the steamer in which we took our passage 
was a merchant of Tabriz, named Haji Muhammad Ja‘far, who 
was also a believer. Just before we started we were ordered to 
avoid all conversation with him during the voyage. Although 
we were completely at a loss to understand the object of this 
prohibition, we obeyed it implicitly. In due course we safely 
reached Egypt, and there set ourselves diligently to confirm 
and encourage the believers, to check the schism which seemed 
impending, and to spread the faith amongst our compatriots in 
Egypt, so far as occasion served. The Persian Consul, unable to 
prevent our compatriots from visiting us, sent word to us that 
he was desirous of hearing about our religion, as he had been 
long absent from Persia, and had been unable to satisfy himself 
as to the truth of the matter. We, suspecting no evil (for we 
thought that in Egypt we ran no tisk of arrest or imprisonment), 
accepted his invitation, and, on an evening which he appointed, 
visited him at the consulate. We sat talking with him till five or 
six hours after sunset, speaking freely and. unreservedly about 
religious questions. When, however, we rose to take our leave, 
we were seized by the consul’s servants and detained in his 
house, while messengets were sent to search our lodgings and 
seize our books and papers. Next day the consul accused us 
to Isma‘il Pasha of heresy and sedition, representing us as con- 
fessedly belonging to a mischievous and dangerous sect, imbued 
with revolutionary ideas, which was hostile to all authority, and 
had already attempted the life of the Shah of Persia. Of our 
heresy, he added, the five or six books found in our lodgings 
(books which we regarded as abrogating the Kur’4n) would 
afford ample evidence. The case was laid before the Council of 
Enquity (Majlis-i-istintdk). We were declared infidels and apos- 
tates, and, without a hearing, condemned to transpottation for 
life to Khartoum in the Soudan. Thither we were sent, together 


SHIRAZ 363 


with six or seven of our brethren. Haji Muhammad Ja‘far of 
Tabriz, our fellow-traveller from Adrianople, was amongst the 
accused, but he was acquitted, as it was proved that we had not 
spoken to him on board the ship, and this was taken as pre- 
sumptive evidence that he had no acquaintance with us. Then we 
understood why Beha had forbidden us to speak with him on the 
voyage, for had we done so he would have been involved in our 
misfortune.” 

“How long were you imprisoned at Khartoum?” I enquired; 
“‘and how did you effect your escape?” 

“We remained there for seven years,” replied Haji Mirza 
Hasan, “‘and for some time we wete unable to communicate 
with our Master, or even to ascertain whither he had been 
removed (for vague rumours of his removal from Adrianople 
reached us). At length we foregathered with some Christian 
missionaries, whose goodwill we won by manifesting an interest 
in their doctrines. By means of these we were able to send a 
letter to Beha, informing him of our condition. On receiving 
our letter, Beha at once indited an answer, consoling us in our 
misfortune and announcing that our oppressor, Isma‘il Pasha, 
would shortly fall from power, and that we should in a little 
while again stand in the presence of our Master. This letter 
was entrusted to an Arab called Jasim1, who started at once 
for Khartoum, where he arrived six months later. When we re- 
ceived it there seemed to be no likelihood that the promises of 
deliverance which it contained would be fulfilled; but we were 
at least no longer wholly cut off from our friends, for the Arab 
not only took back with him our answer, but made arrangements 


b) 


t In the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for April 1892, pp. 311, 312, I 
have attempted to prove that one of the epistles now included in what is 
called by the Babis the S#ra-i-Heykal (the text of which has been published 
in full by Baron Rosen in vol. vi of the Collections Scientifiques de l’ Institut des 
Langues Orientales de St Pétersbourg, pp. 149-192) is this very letter. Jasim, as 
I was informed at Acre, is merely a vulgar and local pronunciation of the 
name K4sim. . 


364 SHIRAZ 


with believers at Suez to forward our letters in the future. Soon 
after this your English general came to Khartoum; I forget his 
name, but you will probably remember it.” 

““General Gordon,” I answered. 

“Yes,” rejoined Haji Mirza Hasan, “that was it. Well, soon 
after his arrival he enquired about the prisoners whom he found 
in Khartoum, and especially about us and the other Persians. 
As he could find no crime recorded against us, he interrogated 
us as to the reason of our confinement. We told him that we were 
innocent of any crime, and that we had been condemned un- 
heard, without a chance of defending ourselves. Our statement 
was confirmed by the prison officials, and General Gordon 
accotdingly telegraphed to Isma‘il Pasha demanding the reason 
of our detention. The replies which he received were vague and 
unsatisfactory, and he accordingly released us, telling us that we 
were free to stay or go as we pleased. Haji Mirza Hasan ‘Ali and 
myself at once availed ourselves of this permission, and set out 
for Acre, but our companions, having wives and families at 
Khartoum, chose to remain there. Soon after this, as you know, 
Isma‘il Pasha was deposed, and the prophecy contained in the 
 epistle was fulfilled. 

“You see that in all these cases when the prophecy was 
uttered there seemed to be no likelihood of its fulfilment; in- 
deed, when we received instructions to act in a certain way, we 
seldom understood the reason till afterwards. For instance, on 
one occasion Haji Mirza Hasan ‘Ali and myself were about to 
return to Persia from Acre by way of Diyar Bekr, Mosul, and 
Rawandiz. We were to’ take with us certain books destined for 
a believer at Tabriz; but, though we intended to proceed thither 
ourselves, we were instructed to convey them no farther beyond 
the Persian frontier than we could help, but to hand them over 
to some trustworthy person as soon as possible after entering 
Persia. Accordingly, when, on reaching Souch Bulak, we heard 
that a certain believing merchant was staying in the caravansaray, 


SHIRAZ 365 


we sent a message to him, informing him that we wished to see 
him at once on a matter of importance. He understood the nature 
of our business and what was toward, and, though with no small 
trepidation, came out to us at once. We walked away from the 
town, he following us, till we came to a streamlet, where we sat 
down and signed to him to do likewise. We explained to him 
our object in seeking him, and handed over to him the books, 
which he took with some reluctance, promising to convey them 
to Tabriz on the first opportunity. Next day we started for 
Tabriz, but we had not gone one parasang when we were 
attacked by Kurdish robbers and stripped of everything save 
out shitts and drawers. Had the books been with us, they too 
would have been lost. As it was, we had to return in this plight 
to Sotich Bulak. We laid a complaint before the Governor 
of Tabriz, Huseyn Khan, son of the Sahib-Divan, and he pro- 
mised us a hundred ¢#mdns* as compensation, but this we never 
received.” 

“These ate certainly very strange experiences,” I said; “but 
of course the evidential value of prophecies referring to events 
of public notoriety, and existing in written form before those 
events came to pass, would be greater.” 

“Well, is there not the epistle to ‘Ali P4sha,”? answered 
Haji Mirza Hasan, “in which his death in a foreign land, as 
well as the assassination of the Turkish ministers: whom Cherkez 
Hasan slew, is clearly foreshadowed? And is there not also the 
epistle to Sheykh Bakir, by whom the martyrs of Isfahan were 
done to death, of which you have already heard? These epistles 
ate well known, and the events to which they refer are notorious. 
But let me tell you how Haji Muhammad Ja‘far, who escaped 
exile to Khartoum, showed his devotion to Beha. When it was 

1 £30 sterling. 

2 I think, for reasons stated at pp. 271-2 of the Journal of the Royal Asiatic 
Society for 1892, that Fu’4d Pasha, not ‘Ali Pash4, is really intended. I have 


not, however, thought myself justified in altering the notes of these conversa- 
tions recorded in my diary. Cf. n. 1 on p. 353, supra. 


366 SHIRAZ 


decided by the Turkish Government to temove our Master and 
his family and relatives, as well as Mirza Yahya!, from Adrian- 
ople, they at first determined to dismiss his followers with their 
“passports and a sum of money for their journey to Persia. Haji 
Muhammad Ja‘far refused to agree to this, declaring that he 
would not be separated from his master. He was told that he 
must obey the Sultan’s orders. Thereupon he drew his knife, 
and, before they could prevent him, inflicted a severe wound on 
his throat; neither would he allow the surgeon who was im- 
mediately summoned to sew it up until he had received an 
assurance that he should be allowed to accompany Beha to Acte. 
The Turkish authorities were therefore obliged to telegraph to 
Constantinople that Beha’s followers could not be separated 
from him, as they would rather kill themselves than leave him. 
However, the Turks tried to send some of them with Mirza 
Yahya to Cyprus; but these, on discovering whither their ship 
was bound, cast themselves into the sea to swim to the ship in 
which Beha was a passenger. They were finally allowed to ac- 
company him to Acre, and only Mirza Yahya and his family’ 
were conveyed to Cyprus, where they still remain.” 

“Why,” I asked, “do you speak of Mirza Yahya as though 
he were of no account? In the books about your religion which 
I read in Europe he is described as the Bab’s chosen successor, 
and, after him, as the chief of your sect?” 

“Yes,” replied Haji Mirza Hasan, “it is true that he was one 
of the early believers, and that at first he was accounted the 
successor and vicegerent of the Bab. But he was repeatedly 


1 I.e. Subb-i-Exel. This title, however, is seldom given by the followers 
of Beha to Mirza Yahya. At most they call him “du shakhs-i-Exel,” “that 
person Ezel.” 

2 This, as I subsequently discovered, is not strictly accurate. Four of 
Beha’s followers (Sheykh “Ali Sayydh, Mubammad Bakir, ‘Abdu’l Ghaffar, and 
Mushkin-kalam) were sent with Subb-i-Eze/l to Cyprus. The first and second 
died in the island in 1871 and 1872 respectively; the third escaped in 1870; 
and the last left for Acre (where I saw him in the spring of 1890) in 1886. 


SHIRAZ 367 


warned not to withhold his allegiance from ‘Him whom God 
shall manifest,’ and threatened that if he did so he would fall 
from the faith, and become as one rejected. In spite of these 
cleat warnings of his Master, he refused to acknowledge the new 
manifestation when it came; wherefore he is now regarded by 
us as of no account.” 

“Has he any followers in Cyprus?” I asked. 

“Hardly any,” answered Haji Mirza Hasan; “‘he writes absurd 
and meaningless letters to his partisans and to such as he hopes 
to persuade; but he is afraid to come to Persia (though the Turks 
have given him permission to do so!), fearing lest we should kill 
him.” 

“And would you kill him?” I enquired. 

“Task pardon of God! Weare not authorised to kill anyone,”’ 
replied the Babi missionary. 

Next day I again met Haji Mirza Hasan at the house of my 
friend Mirza ‘Ali. He had with him a commentary on the Kitab-i- 
Akdas, with the aid of which we attempted, with but partial 
success, to unravel the complicated law of inheritance laid down 
by Beha. I was able, however, to learn from it something more 
about the arrangement of the Babi year. This consists of nine- 
teen months of nineteen days each, the same names serving alike 
for the months of the year and the days of the month. These 
names ate as follows:—(1) Behd, (2) Jalal, (3) Jemil, (4) “Aximat, 
(5) Nar, (6) Rabmat, (7) Kalimdt, (8) Kamal, (9) Asmd, (10) ‘Izzat, 
(11) Mashiyyat, (12) “Ilm, (13) Kudrat, (14) Kawl, (15) Masai, 
(16) Sharaf, (17) Sultan, (18) Mulk, (19) ‘U/ad. According to this 
attangement, the week is completely abolished; the third day 
of the eighth month, for example, is called Yawmu’l-Jemdl min 
shahri’l-Kamdl, “the day of Beauty (Jemd/) in the month of 
Perfection (Kamd/).” But, pending the retention of the week, 


1 This also is a mistake. It was only after the English occupation of 
Cyprus that the Babis interned at Famagusta were given permission to leave 
the island, on condition of forfeiting the pensions which they enjoyed. 


368 SHIRAZ 


new names have been given to the days composing it, as 
follows:— 


Sunday, Yawmu’'l- Jemdl. Wednesday, Yawmu'l-‘Idal. 

Monday, SIME IGT: Thursday, MSE LOLs 

Tuesdays es eee as: Friday, »  Lstiklal. 
Saturday, Yawmu’l-Jaldl:. 


I learned a few more new facts about the Babis on this oc- 
casion. The relations of the Bab (of whom I saw several at 
Shiraz) are called “‘_Afndn,” and the sons of Beha “ Aghsan,” 
both of these words meaning “‘branches.” Beha’s eldest son, 
‘Abbas Efendi?, is called Ghusn-i-Akbar (“the Most Great 
Branch’), and also Akdyi Sirru’ldh (“the Master, God’s Mys- 
tery’), while another of his sons, named Mirza Muhammad ‘AIi, 
is entitled Ghusn-i-A‘zam (“the Most Mighty Branch’’)3. I was 
also shown the epistle from Beha to Sheykh Bakir of which I 
had heard so much, and copied from it the passage which, as the 
Babis declared, foreshadowed the recent disgrace of the Zillu’s- 
Sultan. The translation of this passage is as follows:—“ Verily 
we heard that the provinces of Persia were adorned with the ornament 
of justice; but when we made enquiry we found them well-springs of 
injustice and sources of violence. Verily we see justice under the claws of 
oppression: We ask, God to free it by an exercise of power and an act 

1 For a fuller account of the arrangement of the Babi calendar, and of the 
system of intercalation employed to keep it in correspondence with the solar 
year (for the Nawr#z, which corresponds with the entry of the sun into the 
sign of the Ram and the vernal equinox, marks the beginning of the Babi, 
as of the old Persian, year), see vol. ii of my Traveller’s Narrative written to 
illustrate the Episode of the Bab, pp. 412-425. See also pp. 350-1, supra. 

2 I have described the impression produced upon me by this remarkable 
man at pp. xxxv-xxxvi of vol. ii of my Tvaveller’s Narrative. 

3 Him I did not see at Acre; he was probably living in seclusion. After- 
wards he became the Pontiff of the Beha’i Babis, agreeably to Beha’s testa- 
mentary depositions published in the original by Baron Rosen in vol. ii of 
the Zapisski, pp. 194-6. Beha died on 29th May (16th, old style) 1892. In 
my diary, as well as in my first article on the Babis in the Journal of the Royal 
Asiatic Society for July 1888, I have wrongly transposed the titles of these two 
sons of Beha. 


SHIRAZ 3.69 


of authority on His part. Verily He 7s a Protector over whomsoever 
7s in the earth and in the heavens.” 

One of the older Babis whom I had previously met was 
present for a while; and I urgently repeated a request, which I 
had already made, that I might be taken to see the house (called 
“ Beyt”—“the House” par excellence) formerly inhabited by the 
Bab. There had been some difficulty about this—firstly, because 
its inmates at that time were without exception women; and 
secondly, because it was feared that my visiting it would excite 
the suspicion of the Muhammadans, to whom also the house 
was well-known; but these difficulties appeared to have been 
surmounted, and I received a promise that on the next day but 
one my wish should be gratified. It was therefore in the highest 
spirits that I took leave of my Babi friends and turned home- 
wards; but alas for my hopes, destined to disappointment; for, 
had I known it, there was already awaiting me there that which 
was to cut short my pleasant days in Shiraz, and debar me from 
the accomplishment of the “‘visitation’? which I so ardently 
desired to perform. 











RUA 


CHAPTER XII 
FROMES EPCRA eh On Ye 7i9 


“ Mard dar manzil-i-Jandn ché ja-yi-‘aysh, chin har dam 
Jaras farydd mi-ddrad, ki bar bandtd mahmil-ha?” 


“Shall my Beloved one’s house delight me, 
When issues ever and anon 
From the relentless bell the mandate, 
“Tis time to bind thy litters on’?”’ 
(HAriz, translated by Herman Bicknell.) 


T was, as I have said, in the best of spirits that I returned 

on the evening of this Friday, the 12th of April, to the house 
of my kind host the Nawwab. I was well pleased with my 
environment at Shiraz, and more especially with the progress 
which I had made in cultivating the acquaintance and winning 
the confidence of the Babis, from whom I had already obtained 
several precious manuscripts and much valuable information. 
On the mortow there was to be another picnic in the garden of 
Rashk-i-Bihisht (“the Envy of Paradise’’), and on the following 
day I was to be allowed to visit the Bab’s house. My mind was 
therefore filled with pleasant anticipations as I entered the 
Nawwab’s house. =, 

“Sahib, you are late,” exclaimed the servant who met me in 
the doorway; “where have you been? A telegram has come for 
you, and we would have sent it to you at once, but we knew not 
where you were.” 

I rushed upstairs to my room and tore open the telegram. It 
was a very long one, and the substance of it was this: that a 
European lady, travelling northwards to Teher4n with her 


FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 371 


husband, had been taken ill at Dihbid, five stages from Shiraz; 
that her husband had been obliged to continue his journey; 
that she had been treated for some time by Dr S—— (then 
absent on a tour of inspection along the Bushire road), with 
whom communications had been maintained by means of the 
telegraph; that she was now much worse, being, indeed, in a 
vety critical condition; and that Dr S——-, unable to go to 
Dihbid himself, had suggested that I, having a medical qualifica- 
tion, might go instead of him. The symptoms of the patient were 
fully described, and I was asked, in case I could come, to bring 
with me certain drugs which were not contained in the medicine- 
chest at Dihbid. These, it was added, I could obtain from the 
acting head of the telegraph-office at Shiraz. 

I sat down with the telegram in my hand to consider what I 
ought to do. A few moments’ reflection showed me that, how- 
ever unwilling I might be to quit Shiraz, and however diffident 
I might be as to my fitness to deal with what I clearly perceived 
was a difficult and critical case, I could not with a clear con- 
science refuse to go. It was a sore disappointment to me to tear 
myself away from Shiraz, and to forgo the visit to the Bab’s 
house, to which I had so eagerly looked forward; to ride post 
for neatly 120 miles to confront a medical crisis, such as my in- 
experience ill fitted me to cope with, and which, as I anticipated, 
was but too likely to terminate fatally even before my arrival, 
was, moreover, a prospect that daunted me not a little. My duty, 
however, was perfectly clear; and when I joined the Nawwab 
and Haji Da’i at supper, I told them that in all likelihood it was 
the last meal we should eat together for some time. As soon as 
it was over, I made the best of my way through the dark lanes 
leading to the Bdgh-i-Sheykh, to consult with the acting head 
of the telegraph, and to obtain such medicines and instruments 
as 1 might require. The medical stores, which we ransacked, 
left very much to be desired, both as regards extent and quality, 
and it was with a miserably insufficient outfit that I returned 





24-2 


372 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 


about 1 a.m. to my abode. Even then, tired though I was, it 
was some while ere my anxiety suffered me to sleep. 

Next day it seemed at first as though after all I might escape 
the dreaded ordeal; for in the morning a message came from 
- Dihbid giving a somewhat more favourable account of the 
patient, and bidding me not to start till further notice. I therefore 
decided to accompany the Nawwab to the picnic at Rashk-7- 
Bihisht; but before doing so I made all my arrangements for 
quitting Shiraz. I had decided during the night that, should I be 
compelled to go to Dihbid, I would not return directly to Shiraz, 
but would proceed to Yezd (a city that I greatly desired to visit, 
both because of its remote situation and essentially Persian 
character, and because it is the chief stronghold of Zoroastrian- 
ism in Persia), and thence make my way perhaps to Kirman, 
and so back by Niriz and Darab. I therefore drew thirty témdns 
(nearly £10) in cash for my travelling expenses, and obtained 
a cheque on Ardashir Mihrban, the leading Zoroastrian merchant 
at Yezd, for the balance still remaining to my credit (1474 timans, 
or about £45). I also obtained a letter of introduction to this 
same Ardashir from one of the Zoroastrians at Shiraz, named 
Khustaw, and received from my kind friend Mirza ‘Ali a pro- 
mise of letters to certain highly-considered Seyyids of Yezd to 
whom he was related. Having furthermore purchased a pair 
of saddle-bags (k/urjin) and sundry other necessaries for my 
journey, I had transacted all my business, and was able to follow 
the Nawwab to the garden of Rashk-i-Bihisht. 

I found there the same company as on the previous occasion, 
but, as the weather was fine, they were sitting out in the garden 
on a stone platform overshadowed by trees, instead of in the 
summet-house. The time passed pleasantly in the usual fashion; 
and as sunset approached, and still no summons came from the 
telegraph-office, I began to hope that my time at Shiraz was, 
after all, not destined to be cut short. As I was returning from 
a solitary ramble round the garden, however, I suddenly caught 


FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 373 


sight of the farrdsh of the telegraph-office, and knew, before I 
had heard the message which he brought, that my hope was dis- 
appointed. Hastily bidding farewell to the Nawwab and his 
guests, I set off at once with the farrdsh to the Bdgh-i-Sheykh. 
*“*Haste is of the devil, and tardiness from the All-Merciful,”’ 
says a vety Oriental proverb, and it is indeed an ill thing to be 
in a hurry in an Eastern land. It was well enough to have an 
otder for three post-horses; but these, notwithstanding all my 
importunity, were not forthcoming till the following afternoon, 
and then, that no element of delay might be lacking, I discovered 
that my servant Haji Safar had gone off to the bazaars to buy a 
saddle. Even when we did ultimately start at about 3.15 p.m., 
I had to submit to several further delays for the purchase of 
sundry forgotten articles which were declared necessary; and it 
was already late in the afternoon when, from the summit of the 
Tang-i- Alldhu Akbar, \ turned in my saddle to take what proved 
to be my last look at beautiful Shiraz. It was the very day, even 
the very time, when I was to have made my eagerly-desired visit 
to the Bab’s house; and instead of this, here I was with my 
back to Shiraz, and the rain beating in my face, with a hundred 
miles and mote to ride, to what I much feared would prove to 
be a death-bed. Remembering that life hung in the balance I 
utged on my horse, and presently found myself in the great plain 
of Marv-Dasht. Haji Safar and the shdgird-chdpar (post-boy) were 
far behind me, but, thinking that I remembered the way, I heeded 
this but little, and pushed on as fast as I could towards a group of 
poplar-trees beneath the eastern hills, which, as I thought, 
matked the position of Zargan. I was mistaken, however, for 
when I drew near them I found nothing but gardens; and it was 
in almost complete darkness and pouring rain that, drenched to 
the skin, and in the worst of tempers, I finally entered the narrow 
streets of Zargan, and alighted at the ‘post-house, whete (as it 
appeared impossible to proceed farther), I spent a miserable night, 
which wet clothes and prowling cats rendered almost sleepless. 


374 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 


Next morning I was off before 7 a.m. My first stage was to 
Puzé (“the Snout’’), hard by Persepolis and Istakhr, of Achzme- 
nian and Sasanian splendour. I had promised the shdgird-chdpdr 
a present of two krdus if he brought me there by 9.30, and our 
pace at first was consequently good. But when the little solitary 
post-house of Puzé was already in sight, the miserable, jaded 
hotse which I rode, after telapsing from a spasmodic and 
laboured trot into a walk of ever-increasing slowness, came to 
a dead stop, and I was forced to dismount and walk the last few 
hundred yards. Just before this took place, there met us three 
post-hotses which a shdgird-chapdr was \eading back from Puzé 
to Zargan. I stopped him, and demanded whether I should find 
horses at Puzé, as I wished to continue my journey without 
delay; intending, in case of need, to impress into my service 
the horses of which he had charge. He assured me that there 
were three fresh horses in the post-house, ready to start at once, 
and I left him, wondering whether he was speaking the truth. I 
wronged him by my suspicions; what he had told me was exactly 
and literally true, for, a few minutes later, these “three fresh 
horses, ready to start at once,” issued from the post-house (now 
only a hundred yards distant) with another traveller, and set off 
notthwards! 

On teaching the post-house I found, of course, that there 
were no hotses to be had; and there was nothing for it but to 
sit on a carpet on the roof and try to dispel my annoyance with 
tea and tobacco. I found that the traveller who had taken off 
the horses, as it were under my very nose, was none other than 
the Bombay Parsee whom I had met at Shiraz, and who was so 
anxious to get back to a land of railroads and hotels. He was so 
disgusted with caravan-travelling, and especially with the ex- 
tortions of the servant whom he had engaged at Bushire, that 
he had decided to continue his journey alone by the post, 
although he was a very indifferent rider, and had only accom- 
plished two stages during the whole of the previous day. It 


FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 375 


appeared that he had slept at Puzé that night, and was loitering 
about, without much intention of starting, when he saw me 
approaching; whereupon he hastened to secure his horses and 
set off before I arrived to contest their possession. 

It was not till after mid-day that horses were forthcoming 
and I was able to proceed on my journey. At the very last 
moment, a woman brought her son to me, saying that she had 
heard I was a doctor, and begging me to examine an injury in 
his arm and prescribe for him. I was in no mood to tarry there 
any longer, and, telling her that if she had chosen to come to me 
any time during the last three hours I could have given her my 
undivided attention, but that now it was too late, I rode rapidly 
away. The shdgird-chdpdr who accompanied us, stimulated by 
the promise of a present, exerted himself to accomplish his two 
parasangs an hour, and, by leaving the post-road and fording the 
river (which here runs to the west of it), effected so great a 
saving of distance that I caught up the Parsee just as he was 
leaving the post-house of Kiwam-abad. I was obliged, however, 
to wait there for an hour and a half before I could obtain horses 
to take me on to Murghab; though I was more than ever desirous 
of reaching Dihbid that night if possible, as I had met my friend 
Muhammad Hasan Khan Kashka’i on his way to Shiraz, and he 
had told me that my presence was urgently required there. 

The ride to Murghab was delightful, the horses being good 
and the night superb. I passed the Parsee hard by the Tomb 
of Cyrus, and traversed the ruins of that classic plain by the light 
of a crescent moon, which hung suspended like a silver lamp in 
the clear, dark-blue sky. Once some great beast—a hyzna, 
probably—slunk, silent and shadow-like, across the path and 
disappeared in the bushes. It was 10 p.m. when I reached the 
post-house of Murghab, where, much against my will, I was 
obliged to remain for the night. The Parsee arrived soon after 
me, and we established ourselves in the bdld-khdné or upper 
chamber. I could not help pitying him, for he was travelling 


376 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 


in a manner at once costly and uncomfortable; and while he had, 
as he informed me, paid the servant who accompanied him from 
Bushite to Shiraz the exorbitant sum of 84 timans for eleven 
days’ bad service, he became involved in a lengthy, violent, and 
unprofitable altercation with the boy who had brought him 
from Kiw4m-4bad about a trifling present of a krdn. The conse- 
quence of this was that all the post-house people were against 
him, and my shdgird-chdpdr, well pleased with his reward, assured 
me that I should have the best and the Parsee the worst.of their 
hotses on the morrow. 

Next morning, after a cold and uncomfortable night, I was 
off befote 6 a.m., but, for all the fair words of the shdgird-chdpar, 
there fell to my lot the most miserable and ill-conditioned beast 
that ever it was my lot to bestride. So bad were all its paces, and 
so rough and steep the road, that it was past mid-day when I 
finally alighted at the telegraph-office of Dihbid. Needless to 
say how anxious I was to learn news of my patient, or with what 
heartfelt thankfulness I heard from Mr and Mrs Blake, who 
welcomed me at the door, that she had taken a turn for the 
better, and was now practically out of danger. When I had eaten 
and rested a while, I visited her, and found that it was even as 
they had said: the crisis was past, and all that was left for me to 
do was to watch over the period of convalescence, which, fortu- 
nately, was short. Day by day I had the satisfaction of seeing a 
marked improvement in her condition, and it was only as a 
matter of precaution, and at the request of my host and hostess, 
that I remained for twelve days at Dihbid, at the end of which 
time she was already able to walk out in the garden. 

Dihbid is one of the loneliest and bleakest spots that I saw in 
Persia. The village, so far as I recollect, consists of not more than 
fifteen or twenty hovels, a dilapidated caravansaray, the post- 
house, and the telegraph-office. This last is a spacious and com- 
fortable dwelling, with a fair-sized garden attached to it; but its 
remote and solitary situation, and the severe cold of the winter 


FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 377 


season, must render it a very undesirable station to inhabit for 
a petiod of any length. The time which I spent there, however, 
passed pleasantly enough, for my host and hostess wete kindness 
itself, and the surrounding country, though desolate, was not 
altogether devoid of interest. The worst feature of the place, 
indeed, in my estimation, was the complete lack of educated 
Persian society, the villagers being, without exception, poor 
peasants and quite illiterate. Such as they were, however, I saw 
a good deal of them; for of course it very soon became known 
that I was a “Aakim”; and not from the village of Dihbid only, 
but from the neighbouring hamlets of Kasr-i-Ya‘kub, Kushk, and 
Khurrami, the lame, the halt, and the blind flocked to consult 
me. Indeed, though I had no wish to practise the healing art, 
I soon found myself in the position of “le médecin maleré lui,” 
for it would have been cruel and churlish to refuse these poor 
folk such service as the paucity of drugs and appliances at my 
disposal, and my own lack of practical experience, permitted me 
to render them. So every day, after I had attended to my own 
special patient, and sat for some time conversing with her, 
playing with her pet mongoose (a charming little animal), and 
hearing how the Persian wise women who had been called in 
before my arrival had treated her with what one can only describe 
as “tincture of Al-coran” (made by writing a text from the 
sacred volume on the inside of a cup or saucer, and then dissolving 
it in water), I used to hold a sort of reception for my Persian 
clientele. The cases about which I was consulted were of the most 
miscellaneous character, varying in gravity from corneal opacities 
to catdiac disease, and from soft corns to epilepsy; but I do not 
propose to inflict on my readers any account of their symptoms, 
diagnosis, or treatment. Two of them, however, from a certain 
element of pathos which they seem to me to possess, ate perhaps 
deserving of a brief mention. 

The first of them was a little boy, se twelve, named Khan 
Mirza, who was suffering from paralysis and wasting of the arms 


378 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 


and legs. When I had completed my examination of him and 
heatd the history of his sickness, I knew that I could do nothing 
for him, and, as gently as possible, told his father and mother, 
who had brought him to me, that I was powerless to help them, 
adding that I was doubtful whether the best physicians in 
Firangistan, with the best appliances at their disposal, could 
restore him to health. 

“Sahib,” they wailed, ““we know that you can cure him it you 
like. We are only poor peasants, and we cannot reward you as 
you have a tight to expect, but tell us what sum of money will 
satisfy you, and if possible we will obtain it.” 

I told them that to cure their child it was not money I wanted, 
but the power of working miracles. 

“Can you not believe me,” I concluded, “when I tell you 
that I would rejoice to help you if I could, but that it is beyond 
my skill, and not mine only, but that of the greatest physicians 
of our country? I neither desire nor would consent to accept 
yout money, but I have no right to decetve you with false hopes. 
Surely you must understand that there are diseases which no 
physician can heal, and that, for instance, when the ¢e/t comes, 
Jalinus and Bukrat? themselves have no resource but to cry, ‘there 
is no strength and no power save in God the Supreme, the Mighty!’”’ 

“You speak truly,” answered the father; “‘but that only holds 
good of death.” 

“How, then,” said I, “‘does it come to pass that even amongst 
the rich there are blind and deaf and halt and dumb persons, who 
would give any price to be restored to health if they could 
find one to cute them, but who go down to their graves 
unhealed?”’ 


1 J.e. the appointed time to die. 

2 I.e. Galen and Hippocrates, who still to the Persian typify the perfection 
of medical skill. 

3 “Ld hamla wa la kuvvata illa bi’ Nahi’ l-“ Aliyyi’l-“ Azim,” a form of words 
used by the Muhammadans when all hope is gone, and only a miracle ean 
avert disaster. 


FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 379 


“Tt is because they cannot get hold of a physician like you,” ! 
replied the man. In the face of such faith what could one do 
but make up a prescription which, if it were not likely to do 
much good, could at least do no harmpP 

The other case to which I have alluded was a poor old man, 
called Mashhadi Khuda-Rahm, who lived at some distance from 
Dihbid. The first time he came was late one afternoon, when I 
had seen all my other patients, and was resting after my labours. 
My servant (whether out of consideration for me, or to em- 
phasise his own importance) refused to let him see me or to 
inform me of his arrival. The poor old man thought that he had 
been turned away because he had not brought a present, and 
when he returned and was finally admitted to me, he had in his 
hands a couple of fowls as a propitiatory offering. These he 
begged me to accept, promising that in the morning he would 
bring me a lamb; and it was with great difficulty that I succeeded 
in making him understand that I had no wish to deprive him of 
any portion of his scanty possessions. I found that his son had 
gone down to the turbulent and lawless town of Abarkih some 
two months previously, and had there been stabbed in a quarrel 
about a girl to whom he was attached. Since then the old father’s 
eyesight had been gradually failing “through much weeping,” 
as he said; and it was for this that he had sought me. I did the 
best I could for him (which, I fear, was not much), and he went 
on his way and was no more seen by me. 

Of the country round about Dihbid I need say but little. Hard 
by the village stands a ruined tower, with enormously thick walls 
built of dried clay, which the country-folk believe to have 
been one of the seven hunting-palaces of Bahram Gur”. I was 

1 “ Bi-jihat-i-dnki misl-i-shumd hakimi gir-ashdn namt-dyad.” 'The expression 
gir dmadan (to be got hold of), though not, I think, found in classical, is 
common in colloquial, Persian. 

2 “The haft gunbudh” of Bahram (or Varahran) V, surnamed “ G#r”’ (the 


“wild ass”’), from his fondness for chasing that animal, are familiar to every 
student of Persian literature. The king in question reigned from A.D. 420 


380 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 


informed by one of the inhabitants that coins and ornaments had 
been dug up in its vicinity. Round about the tower are some 
cutious tocks, looking like dried masses of mud. Many of these 
ate hollowed out into caves, in which the wandering tribesmen 
take up their abode in summer. The stream which flows past 
Dihbid, crossing the main toad a few yards south of the tele- 
gtaph-office, runs in a south-westerly direction to Kasr-i-Ya‘kub 
(‘‘ Jacob’s Castle’), where, as I was told, it forms a lake, in which 
ate fish of considerable size. Some distance to the east of the 
stream, and about two and a half or three miles south-west of 
Dihbid, stands a solitary withered tree hard by a ruined and 
deserted village and graveyard known as Mazra‘i-Sabz. This tree, 
as I was informed by Mr Blake, is said to be haunted by a white- 
robed woman. I could learn no particulars about the legend 
connected with this ghost, and only mention it because it is the 
sole instance of this type of apparition which came to my know- 
ledge in Persia. To the north and north-west of Dihbid lie the 
hamlets of Kushk, Huseyn-abad, and Khurrami, which I did not 
visit, and which are, I believe, places of but little importance. 
The whole plateau is, as I have said, of considerable elevation, 
and owing, I suppose, to the rarefaction of the air, one is liable 
when walking to experience a certain curious and unpleasant 
shortness of breath. 

It was 29th April when, my patient being convalescent and 
able to take the air in the garden adjoining the telegraph-office, 
I finally quitted Dihbid and turned my face eastwards towards 
Yezd. After the somewhat monotonous though pleasant fort- 
night which I had spent at Dihbid, I looked forward eagerly to 
the excitement of a journey through country far wilder and less 
known than any which I had hitherto traversed. I had some 


to 438. At Shiraz I was told by Haji Nasru’llah Khan, the []-Khéni, that the 
sites of all these seven-hued palaces were known to him. He gave me a list 
of them, but I did not write it down at the time, and only remember that he 
identified the Kasr-i-zard ot “yellow tower” with Kushki-zard, on the sar-hadd 
(or high-level) road to Shiraz. 


FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 381 


difficulty in obtaining animals for the march, but at length 
succeeded in hiring a mare for myself, and two donkeys for my 
servant and baggage, for which I was to pay the moderate sum 
of seven tdmadns (rather mote than £2), it being understood that 
the journey to Yezd was to be accomplished in six or seven days. 
A fine handsome young man named Baba Khan was to act as 
guide, and to take charge of the animals. This arrangement, 
satisfactory enough to myself, was very distasteful to Haji Safar, 
who was greatly incensed at being expected to ride a donkey, 
and was only pacified with some difficulty. 

We left Dihbid about 7.30 in the morning, as our intention 
was to push past the caves of Hanishk (where two or three 
musket-men are stationed as a guard, and where it is possible to 
halt for the night) and reach one of the flourishing villages which 
lie like islands of verdure in the sandy desert of Abarkuh. The 
Yezd road quits the main road from Shiraz to Isfahan close to 
~ the Dihbid caravansaray, and runs in a north-easterly direction 
towatds the tail of the mountains above Hanishk. These we 
reached about 10.30 a.m., and then began the long descent 
towards the plain. The sides of the narrow ravines through which 
our path wound were abundantly decked with flowers, concern- 
ing which I questioned Baba Khan, who turned out to be a very 
intelligent and agreeable companion. There were tall, hyacinth- 
like spikes, with white blossoms and very thick succulent stems, 
called Kurroghlé; fine large mountain chrysanthemums, called 
Daudi; abundance of wild rhubarb (Rzwds); and a little ill- 
smelling plant with orange-brown flowers, named Mdr-gydh 
(snake-grass). After passing a beautifully green grassy spot called 
Gushti, well watered by a stream which ran down the ravine, 
whete some peasants were pasturing their cows and donkeys, 
we came, at 11.15 a.m., to a point where the valley opened out 
somewhat and allowed us to see for the first time the great sandy 
plain (kaffé) of Abarkuh spread out at our feet. This plain, which 
at its narrowest point (where we proposed to cross it) is about 


382 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 


fifteen parasangs (fifty-two miles) in width, runs, roughly speak- 
ing, from north-west to south-east, and is bounded on both sides 
by mountains, the highest of which, behind which lies Yezd, 
wete streaked with snow. The plain itself is a dreary, sandy 
waste, encrusted here and there with patches of salt; yet notwith- 
standing this (or perhaps partly because of this), the villages 
which lie on its western border—Ismin-abad, Mihr-abad, Sharaz, 
and the larger town of Abarkuh—present a singularly fresh and 
verdant appearance. Near to the town of Abarkuh, and to the 
east of it, is a line of black jagged hills, rising abruptly from the 
plain, and crowned with ruins of some size, amongst which a 
dome called Gunbudh-i-‘Ali is particularly conspicuous. 

At 11.30 we teached Hanishk, and halted for lunch. There 
ate no buildings here, but only a few caves in the rock, which 
setve the /wfankchis (musket-men) there stationed for a dwelling; 
a couple of fine mulberry-trees, under which we rested; a stream; 
and a spring of clear, cool water. Leaving Hanishk again at 
12.45, we continued our descent, and finally, at about 2.15 p.m. 
emerged from the narrow jaws of the ravine into the plain, which 
from this point slopes but very slightly downwards towards 
Abarkuh. At 3.30 we passed a ruined cistern (db-anbar) covered 
by a dome, and about 6.30, just as the sun was setting, reached 
the beautiful green oasis formed by the gardens of Mihr-abad, 
where we were to halt for the night. Round about these, enclosed 
within a high outer wall to keep off the drifting sand, lay fields 
of corn and of the white poppy (for opium is largely produced 
in all this district); and I was amazed to see what the skilful 
irrigation of the Persians could do for even so unpromising a 
soil. It is more irrigation, not railways and factories, that Persia 
needs to increase her prosperity; and were the means for this 
forthcoming, many a dreary desert might yet blossom with the 
rose and the poppy. 

There is, of course, no post-house at Mihr-abad, nor, so far 
as I know, a catavansatay; but I was far from regretting this, as 


FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 383 


I obtained a much more delightful resting-place in a beautiful 
rose-garden near the gate of the village. I was, it is true, obliged 
to sleep in the open air; but, apart from the lack of privacy which 
it involved, this was a luxury rather than a hardship, the tem- 
perature in this low hill-girt plain being so much higher than at 
Dihbid that I seemed to have passed in one day from early spring 
to midsummer. Ina sort of alcove in the high mud wall a carpet 
was spread for me, and here I esconced myself, Haji Safar taking 
up his position under the opposite wall. Tea was soon prepared, 
and while I was drinking it the gardener brought me two great 
handfuls of loose rose-leaves—a pretty custom, common in this 
mote eastern part of Persia. 

Needless to say, visitors soon began to arrive; and, as none 
of them thought of moving till midnight, I had plenty of op- 
portunity of observing their characteristics. In several ways 
they appeared to me to differ very widely from any type of 
Persian which I had hitherto seen, notably in this, that they 
manifested not the least curiosity about my business, nationality, 
ot religion. Sullen, independent, quarrelsome, and totally devoid 
of that polished manner which characterises most of their 
countrymen, they talked for the most part with one another, and 
appeared to take little interest in anything except sport, horses, 
fire-arms, spirits, and opium. The only occasion on which Darab 
Khan, the son of a local magnate, addressed me with any appear- 
ance of interest was when he demanded whether I had with me 
any strong drink. I told him I had not. ‘You lie,” replied he; 
“all Firangis drink.” I then recollected that I had a little pocket- 
flask half-filled with whisky. ‘Well, I have this small quantity,” 
I said, “in case of emergencies.” ‘“‘Let me see it,” said he. I 
handed it to him, whereupon he unscrewed the top, sniffed at 
the whisky, and finally put the flask to his mouth, drained it at 
one gulp, and threw it back to me with a grimace. I asked him 
what he thought of it. “Poor stuff,” he said—“‘no better than 
our ‘arak, if as good. You are certain you have no more?” 


384 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 


I told him I had not another drop, and thereat he ceased to pay 
any further heed to me. 

Dara4b Khan had with him a very handsome page; another 
most savage-looking attendant named Huseyn, with enormously 
long drooping moustaches, which gave him somewhat the ap- 
pearance of a Chinaman; one or two younger brothers; and 
several friends. They all sat together, servants and mastets, 
without distinction of rank; they were nearly all armed to the 
teeth; and they nearly all smoked opium and drank as much 
spirits as they could get. 

As we had made a long stage on the first day, and as the heat 
was now considerable, Baba Khan decided to await the approach 
of evening before starting to cross the desert. In consequence 
of this I saw plenty of Darab Khan and his dissolute com- 
panions, who kept coming and going from 8 a.m. onwards. One, 
Ja‘far Khan, also came to consult me with symptoms of in- 
digestion and disordered liver. Having received a blue pill, he 
became communicative, and entertained me with a panegyric 
ona certain Mulla Ghulam Riza of Taft (near Yezd), who was 
highly reputed for his medical skill, and a dissertation on Persian 
pharmacology. Drugs, he explained, were primarily divisible 
into two classes: “‘hot”’ (used for combating ‘“‘cold”’ diseases), 
amongst which the most efficacious were babiné, afsantin-i-Rumi, 
and gul-i-gdv-zabin; and “cold” (useful for the treatment of 
“hot” maladies), of which réshé-i-khatmi (hollyhock root), rishé-i- 
kdsni, and rishé-i-kadi enjoyed the highest reputation. This in- 
teresting dissertation was unfortunately interrupted by the arrival 
of two or three of Darab Khan’s younger brothers (so, at least, 
I judged them to be from their likeness to him), who forthwith 
began to pull about my effects and examine my clothes and 
bedding. One of them, seeing Haji Safar smoking a cigarette, 
plucked it out of his mouth and began to smoke it himself, 
whereupon he was, to my great delight, seized with so violent 
a fit of coughing that he had to retire. The relief afforded by his 


FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 385 


absence was, however, of short duration, for he soon came back, 
accompanied by a man who complained of that most usual of 
Persian ailments “pain in the loins” (dard-i-kamar). This latter 
I declined to treat, whereupon he said, “‘Since you will not give 
me any medicine, I will have a cigarette.” I accordingly made 
him one, which he smoked rapidly, but without much apparent 
enjoyment, for he suddenly threw it away and departed hastily 
without a word. It was evident that cigarettes were a novelty 
in the plain of Abarkuh. 

I was now left for a while in comparative peace; for my host, 
after amusing himself for a while by firing bullets with his long 
Shirazi gun at the birds on the garden wall, turned Darab Khan’s 
troublesome young brothers out of the garden and shut the door. 
At 3.30 p.m. the animals were laden and ready to start. Haji 
Safar gave the owner of the garden five krans (about three-and- 
sixpence), with which he was evidently well satisfied, for he came 
and showed me the money, remarking, “This was not necessaty, 
nor so much.” He then gave me a large bunch of roses as I was 
about to mount, and walked beside me to the outskirts of the 
village, where he bade us farewell. As soon as he had gone, Haji 
Safar began to abuse the people of the village roundly for their 
churlishness, adding that one of the boys had stolen a pair of 
goloshes and other articles out of my baggage, but that he had 
recovered them. “I should like to have given him a good 
thrashing,” he concluded, “but I thought you would not like 
it.” Prudence, I imagine, had something to do with his self- 
restraint, for the Abarkuhis are not the kind of people one would 
care to anger. 

Our coutse at first lay nearly due north, towards the fantastic, 
jagged hills which rise abruptly from the sandy plain close by 
the city of Abarkuh. As we passed between two ridges of these, 
I could plainly see the ruined domes, minarets, and walls which 
crown their summits. The largest dome stands at the northern 


end of the northern ridge, and is called Gunbudb-i-“ Alt. 1 should 


B 25 


386 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 


steatly have liked to explore these ruins, and to see something 
of the city of Abarkuh, which Ja‘far Khan declared to be “the 
oldest city in Persia, except Salkh” (by which, I suppose, he 
meant Istakhr), and to be full of ancient monuments; but un- 
- fortunately this was impossible. Emerging from between these 
tocky ridges, we found ourselves once mote in the open sandy 
plain, and could discern at a short distance several small villages. 
In a little while we passed one of them, called Shardz, just beyond 
which the toad bifurcated, the left-hand or more northerly 
branch (for we had now again turned nearly due east) leading to 
Shams-ab4d; the right or more southerly one to Hakim. We 
followed the latter, and reached Hakim about 6.45 p.m. as it was 
getting dusk. Here we found a small caravan of donkeys, laden 
with wheat for Yezd; and, learning that this was not to start till 
the moon rose, we halted in the plain for rest and refreshment. 
After supper I lay gazing at the starry sky till sleep overcame 
me. About midnight Haji Safar awoke me, and soon afterwards 
we started at a good pace (for these caravans of donkeys travel 
faster than ordinary caravans) on the long desert stage which was 
to bring us to Chah-Beet, the first habitable spot on the Yezd 
side of the desolate plain. Bare and hideous as this desert is by 
day, seen in the silver moonlight it had a strange weird beauty, 
which produced on me a deep impression. The salt-pools and 
salt-patches gleamed like snow on every side; the clear desert air 
was laden with a pungent briny smell like a sea-breeze; and over 
the sharply-defined hills of Yezd, towards which we were now 
directly advancing, hung the great silvery moon to the right, and 
the “Seven Brothers” (haft birddardn), or Great Bear, to the left. 
I kept in advance of the caravan, and watched with a keen 
pleasure the stars “beginning to faint on a bed of daffodil sky,” 
till first the “caravan-killer”’ (kdravdn- ot charvdddr-kush) and then 
the morning star dissolved in the rosy flush which crept upwards 
from behind the eastern mountains, and suddenly, like a ball of 
fire, the sun leaped up over their serrated summits, scattering 


FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 387 


the illusions of the night, and bringing into view chains and 
ridges of low hills which had hitherto seemed to form part of 
the main mass. 

As it grew light, a man carrying a large wallet over his shoul- 
ders, and walking rapidly, came up with me. I saluted him, 
and entered into conversation. He was, as I gathered, a kasid, 
ot courier, with letters from Abddé for Yezd. He told me that 
he had been a soldier in one of the Zillu’s-Sultan’s regiments 
till these were disbanded. He did not like a soldier’s life, and 
had once deserted, walking from Isfahan to Abddé (about 130 
miles) in two days. He had also walked from Yezd to Mashhad 
by the desert road in twenty days, and from Teheran to Mashhad 
in the same time. He asked me many questions about England 
and its government, and complained bitterly of the heavy taxation 
to which the Persian peasantry were subjected. The tax on a 
donkey was, he said, two témdns (about 135.) a year, and on a 
_ sheep three tdémdns (nearly £1). He further informed me that 
bread was dear at Yezd, costing three pandbdts (one and a half 
krans, ot about 11d.) the man; and that during the great famine 
about sixteen years earlier it had risen to sixteen &rdus (about ros.) 
the man, and that the people were in some cases driven to eat 
human flesh to appease their hunger. As we approached Chah- 
Begi we passed numerous tamarisk-bushes (gaz), which, as my 
companion told me, had formerly been much more abundant, 
till they were cut down by order of the Government, because 
they afforded a harbour to highway robbers of the Bakhtiyari 
and other nomad tribes. He gave the people of Abarkuh a very 
bad character, declaring that fatal quarrels were of constant 
occurrence there. 

We reached Chah-Begi, a miserable walled village, containing 
a few sordid and quarrelsome inhabitants, a little before 7 a.m., 
and alighted at the dilapidated caravansaray, in front of which 
stood several sickly trees. I spent the whole day in the large, 
dusty, ruinous chamber allotted to me; sleeping, eating, washing 


25-2 


388 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 


to the very limited extent permitted by the surroundings, and 
writing up my diary, being the only resources available for 
passing the long, hot day. A certain excitement, which can hardly 
be described as pleasurable, was produced from time to time by 
the appearance of sundry large and offensive insects; first a 
tarantula (rotey/, or khdyé-gax), which was killed on the wall where 
it sat by a kick from B4ba Khan, who informed me in an en- 
couraging manner that they had just killed another one outside, 
and that, as these were probably a pair, there was nothing to 
apprehend. I failed to see the conclusiveness of this reasoning, 
and (as I had left my bedstead at Shiraz, and was therefore obliged 
to spread my bedding on the floor) continued to keep a good 
look-out, for which I was presently rewarded by seeing a large 
black creature, shaped something like a gigantic wood-louse, 
emerge deliberately from a cranny in the wall. I threw half a 
brick at it, and it vanished with a horrid splash. After this I felt 
little inclination for sleep, but after supper fatigue overcame me 
and | fell into a deep slumber, from which I was aroused about 
an hour after midnight by Haji Safar. 

It was with sincere delight that I quitted this detestable spot 
about 1.30 a.m., and found myself once more on the road in the 
cool, clear moonlight. Having nothing else to do, I watched 
and timed the changes in the sky which heralded the dawn. At 
3.30 a.m. the “False Dawn” (Swbp-z-Kddbib) appeared, a little to 
the north of the point whence the sun subsequently arose. At 
3.45 a rosy tinge was perceptible in the sky. At 4.0 the morning 
star began to shine over the hills. At 4.30 it was quite light, 
and at 4.55 the sun rose; but it was not till 6 a.m. that the day 
began to grow warm. An hour later we entered the village of 
Baghistan, where the road bifurcated. Taking the right-hand 
branch, we presently passed the castellated village of Irdun, 
situated on a small hill, and, at about 8 a.m., reached a beautiful 
village named Gé6d-i-Shirdan or Sharif-abad, which, with its 
shady lanes, rippling streams, and verdant trees, reminded me 


FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 389 


more of my native land than anything I had seen for many a long 
day. Here we halted; and in one of the well-kept gardens which 
gave to the village so flourishing an appearance I spread my bed 
under a yellow rose-tree, and slept for a while till tea was ready. 
I then found that the little streamlet beside me had been diverted 
into another channel for the irrigation of another part of the 
gatden, and, as it now threatened to inundate my resting-place, 
I was obliged to alter my position. Just as I had effected this, 
and was preparing to go to sleep again, a deputation of the prin- 
cipal inhabitants of the village and the neighbouring hamlet of 
Dih-i-P4’in was announced. Of course they wanted medical 
advice; but, needless to say, they did not touch on the business 
which had brought them till they had exhausted all other topics 
of conversation. Amongst other things they informed me that 
two men had lately been put to death by the new Governor of 
Yezd for drinking wine. I expressed surprise, adding that if the 
Governor of Shiraz were to take it into his head to deal thus 
harshly with wine-drinkers, he would soon have no subjects left 
to govern. “Yes,” replied my informant, “but, thank God, this 
is not Shiraz.” 

Other persons gradually joined the group which had gathered 
round me, amongst these being a respectable-looking, though 
poorly-clad, man, who had joined our caravan at Hakim. Pre- 
sently one of those present asked me if I knew Russian. “‘No,” 
I said, ““why should I? A great distance separates the English 
from the Russians.” “One man only intervenes between them,” 
remarked my fellow-traveller. I looked at him in wonder. “‘ You 
are not a Russian,” I exclaimed. “I ama Russian subject, at any 
rate,” he replied, “thougha Musulman; my native placeis Erivan.” 

At length my visitors began to approach the object which 
had brought them. “‘Was it true,” they asked, “that I had some 
knowledge of medicine?” I answered inthe affirmative. “Would 
I visit a woman in their village who was stricken with a grievous 
sickness?” they continued. I asked whether she could not come 


390 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 


and see me, but they told me that she was too ill, adding that 
their village was quite close at hand. It proved to be about two 
miles off, and on my arrival there the whole population (some 
twenty or thirty souls) turned out to stare at me, and followed 
me into the sick-room. The patient, a middle-aged woman, was 
lying on the floor in the middle of the room, and was evidently 
very ill; though, owing to the impossibility of making a careful 
examination, and the distracting effect of the eager crowd of 
onlookers, who kept up a continual buzz of conversation, I was 
unable to satisfy myself as to the nature of her complaint. When 
I had prescribed such medicines as appeared to me most likely 
to afford her some relief, I was called upon to examine several 
other sick persons, and it was only with much difficulty that I 
was able to get away. As I was leaving, one of the principal 
inhabitants of the village presented me, as a rewatd for my 
trouble, with a saddle-cover, which I bestowed on Baba Khan, 
who had come with me to carry my box of drugs and instruments. 
Haji Safar was greatly annoyed at what he called the meanness 
of the people, declaring that I might have gained a hundred 
tumadns in fees since I left Dihbid but for my lamentable weakness 
in giving advice gratis. 

We left G6d-i-Shirdan about 4.30 next morning, it being then 
quite light; but though it was mid-day before we reached Sunjj, 
our next halting-place, we did not suffer any inconvenience from 
the heat, as we were again ascending into a cool and mountainous 
region. The wheat-laden donkeys had started at an earlier hour, 
but the Erivani, whose acquaintance I had made on the previous 
day, had preferred to wait for us, and I had a good deal of con- 
vetsation with him. I found him a pleasant and intelligent com- 
panion, for he had travelled widely, and spoke, besides his own 
Caucasian Turkish, Ottoman Turkish, Russian, Persian, and 
Arabic. He told me that it was now three years since he had left 
Erivan, whence he had journeyed to Tabriz, Teheran, Isfahan, 
Kirmanshah, Baghdad, Bushire, and Shiraz. He was now ptro- 


FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 391 


ceeding to Yezd, having come with a caravan northward bound 
as far as Dihbid, where he had been detained for ten days ere he 
could find means of continuing his journey. He had heard at 
Dihbid that I was going to Yezd, but had hesitated to join me, 
not knowing what manner of man I might be. “Yesterday, 
however,” he concluded, “I watched you with those people in 
the garden, and saw that you were not wanting in ‘crop,’! for 
you never once showed any irritation at their absurd and 1m- 
pertinent questions, but continued to answer them with a smile 
and a jest.” I asked him whither he was bound, and when he 
expected to return to his home. He replied that from Yezd he 
intended to go to Mashhad, and thence through Afghanistan to 
India; and that it would be two years at least ere he again reached 
Erivan. I asked him if he did not fear to trust himself amongst 
the treacherous and cruel Afghans, but he answered, “‘No, with 
patience and courage a man can go wheresoever he will on God’s 
earth,” | 

The road which we traversed this day was singularly beautiful, 
and the country looked prosperous and well cared for. We passed 
two villages, however, one on the right and another on the left, 
named Haydar-abad and ‘Abbas-abad respectively, which had 
been deserted owing to the failure of their water supply. The 
trees in their gardens were still for the most part green and 
luxuriant, but already the fragile mud walls were falling into ruin; 
and, meditating on this process of rapid decay, I ceased to wonder 
at the many Persian towns and villages mentioned by early 
geographers and historians of which no trace remains, and which 
it seems impossible to identify. At a considerable distance to 

1 Hawsala, properly the crop of a bird, or the stomach of an animal, is 
commonly used in Persian in the sense of patience, evenness of temper, or 
capacity for stomaching insults or annoyances. So a short-tempered or im- 


patient man is described as tang-hawsala. Thus Nasiru’d-Din Shah says in one 
of his poetical compositions— 


“ Dust na-bdyad zi dust dar gilah bashad; Mard na-bdyad ki tang-hawsala bashad.” 
“Friend should not complain of friend; a man should not be short-tempered.”’ 


392 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 


the right (north), on a low conical hill, the Castle of Bundft, 
with the village of the same name below it, was clearly visible; 
and, farther east, the precipitous black crag called Kal‘at-1-Zard 
(“the Yellow Castle’), which, as Baba Khan informed me, is only 
accessible by one path, and at the foot of which lies the village 
of Balkh-u-Guriz. Farther on we passed the village of Kattu 
(also on the right), by which runs the direct road from Yezd to 
Bawanat, and soon afterwards turned the northern end of the 
vast pile of cliffs which forms this western face of the Shir-Kuh, 
and, following a ravine to the left, down which rushed a clear, 
cool mountain stream, presently reached the beautiful Alpine 
village of Sunij, a mass of gardens and groves situated amidst the 
grandest rock-scenery. A more charming spot for a summer 
residence could hardly be conceived, and the people of Yezd 
are fortunate in being able to retreat so easily from their baking, 
sandy plains to this and other equally delightful highland resorts. 

I succeeded in obtaining a very comfortable lodging, past the 
doot of which ran a stream of beautiful clear water. In the after- 
noon I was visited by a number of the inhabitants, who were of 
the true Yezdi type, fair-skinned and gray-eyed, with loosely- 
coiled bluish turbans, and the curious sing-song drawl which 
always characterises the speech of Yezd. This accent reminded 
me strongly of the south Northumbrian in English, the modula- 
tion of the voice in both cases being very similar; it is generally 
much laughed at in Persia, but to me it always seemed soothing, 
and at times rather pretty. My visitors, of course, were very 
inquisitive, and asked me more than the usual number of 
questions, chiefly about my religion and the business that had 
brought me into a region so seldom traversed by Europeans. 
“Was it true,” they asked, “that Europeans accounted the flesh 
of the pig a lawful food?” “Had we fixed ablutions and prayers?” 
“How were marriages celebrated in Europe, and what were the 
regulations as to dowry?” Presently a comical-looking old man 
broke in, declaring that as for my business, he had no doubt that 


FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 393 


I had come “‘to effect disruptions in Church and State” (rakhné 
dar din u mamlakat kardan), else how did I come to know the 
geography of the country, and to be so anxious for information 
as to the names of all the villages, mountain-peaks, and streams 
in the neighbourhood? Here the Erivani interposed, saying that 
all the Europeans, even the children, learned geography by means 
of maps such as I possessed. Thereupon my map was at once 
called for and exhibited to an admiring crowd, some of whom, 
however, expressed great disappointment that I had not also a 
microscope (Aburdeé-bin), so that they might by its aid see what 
was going on in the streets of Yezd! 

Next day we were off about 5.30 a.m., many people assembling 
to witness our departure. Amongst these was the old man who 
had regarded me with such suspicion on the previous evening, 
but he seemed to have changed his opinion of me for the better, 
for, in bidding me farewell, he begged me, should I again pass 
that way, by no means to omit a visit to the ancient castle of 
Shawwaz, situated ten parasangs away, in the direction of “Ali- 
abad. Our host accompanied us till we were clear of the village 
and on the road to Taft, his little son following us somewhat 
farther, plaintively calling out to Haji Safar in his childish Yezdi 
drawl, “ Ye td macham na-kardi!” (“Thou hast not given me one 
kiss”’)—a remark to which Haji Safar only replied with an out- 
burst of mirth and mimicry, which caused the boy to turn 
petulantly away. 

The toad which we followed was again singularly picturesque, 
for it led us almost immediately below the rugged and precipi- 
tous cliffs of the Shir-Kuh, rent and shattered on every ridge into 
fantastic towers and needles. We were now again descending 
towards the plain of Yezd, and ina valley to the left could discern 
amongst several others the village of ‘Ali-4bad, through which 
passes another road from Yezd to Abarkth. The conversation 
of my Erivani friend did much to dispel the monotony inseparable 
from even the most picturesque march. Amongst other things, 


394 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 


he told me a rather clever variation of the well-known, though 
ptobably fictitious, anecdote concerning the interview between 
the poet Hafiz and Timur-i-lang, the Tartar conqueror, better 
known as Tamerlane, who, as the story runs, angrily demanded 
of Hafiz how he had dared, in one of his poems, to say that he 
would give Samarkand and Bukhara for the black mole on his 
beloved’s cheek. According to the usual version of the tale, 
Hafiz replied, “Yes, site, and it is by such acts of generosity 
that I have been reduced to the poverty in which you see me”’; 
_ whereupon Timur laughed, and ordered a sum of money to be 
given him. According to my companion’s account, however, 
the poet effected his deliverance by an ingenious emendation in 
the obnoxious line. “‘Bakhbsham Samarkand u Bukhard-rd!’” (1 
would give Samarkand and Bukhara’) he exclaimed; “those 
ate not my words! What I wrote was, ‘bakhsham si man kand u 
du khurmd-rd’ (‘1 would give three stone of sugar and a couple 
of dates’), and some ignorant scribe has altered it into this!” 
We teached the large and flourishing village of Taft about 
mid-day, two hours and a half after passing another prosperous 
and pretty village called Khurashé. Taft was looking its best 
on that fine May morning, the luxuriant green of its gardens 
being pleasantly varied by the bright red flowers of the pome- 
granates in which they abound. A wide, sandy river-bed, at 
this season devoid of water, divides it into two parts, whereof 
the northern is inhabited by the Zoroastrians and the southern 
by the Muhammadans. We followed this river-bed, which 
appeared to serve also as a road, for some distance, till we came 
to a point where the houses were more abundant and the gardens 
fewer. Here we halted, and began to look for a lodging, which 
I finally obtained in a sort of pavilion in the middle of a large 
square. Four rooms, raised somewhat above the level of the 
ground, opened cut of the central hall of this pavilion, which 
was surrounded by a few trees, and appeared to offer desirable 
and comfortable quarters. Unfortunately, these rooms were 


FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 395 


lighted by iron-barred windows opening on to the square, and 
I soon found myself an object of interest to a crowd of blue- 
turbaned, bearded men, and fair-faced, gray-eyed boys, who 
watched me using a knife and fork to eat my lunch with un- 
controlled delight and amusement. They were perfectly well- 
behaved, and evidently had no desite to annoy me; but I never 
before realised what the lions in the Zoological Gardens have to 
put up with! 

Later in the afternoon I went for a short walk down the road- 
river with my Erivani friend, after extricating myself with some 
difficulty from a crowd of people with sore eyes and other ail- 
ments for which they desired treatment. In the course of our 
walk we were accosted, to my great delight, by two of the yellow- 
tobed Zoroastrians, whom I now saw for the first time in the 
raiment which in Yezd and Kirmén serves to distinguish them, 
even at a distance, from their Muhammadan fellow-citizens, but 
which in other parts of Persia they are permitted to lay aside. 
The Erivani asked them what was their religion, to which they 
proudly replied, “Zardushti, Kiydni” (Zoroastrian, Achzme- 
nian”), whereat he laughed not a little. On returning to my 
lodging, I found a handsome clever-looking man waiting to see 
me. From his talk I had little doubt that he was a Babi, for he 
enquired very minutely into the Christian belief as to the advent 
of the Messiah, adding, “Perhaps He /as corne, and you have not 
recognised Him,” and presently, “Have you heard news of the 
Manifestation?” But when I asked him point-blank whether he 
was “‘of that sect” (ay du td’ifa), he only replied “ Khudd dand” 
(“God knows”’), and soon after left me. 

Next morning (Saturday, 5th May) we started about 5 a.m., 
so as to teach Yezd before the day grew hot. Our road sloped 
continuously, but gently, downwards towards the city, which 
was in view almost from the beginning of the march. As we were 
leaving Taft, a little boy came up and presented me with a rose, 
and farther on an old man who was working in a field near the 


396 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 


road offered me the like attention, neither of them expecting or 
receiving any rewatd for what, in these parts of Persia, which 
have not yet been spoiled by Europeans, is an act of pure kindli- 
ness and courtesy towards strangers. We passed successively the 
large and flourishing villages of Mubaraké and Chamr on the 
tight, and Zeyn-4bad on the left, while on a low spur of the 
mountains to the south of the road the white dakhmé or “‘towet 
of silence” of the Zoroastrians was plainly visible. Leaving these 
behind us, we presently entered the sandy plain wherein lies 
the ancient city of Yezd, towards which we wound our way 
through gardens and cornfields. As we approached it, I was much 
puzzled as to the nature and function of numerous tall chimney- 
like structures, the like of which I had not hitherto seen. Knowing 
that Yezd gloried in the title “‘ Darw’/‘ Ibddat” (‘the Abode of 
Devotion”), I was for a moment disposed to regard them as a 
new variety of minaret; but I soon learned that they were really 
bdd-girs ot wind-chimneys, designed to collect and convey into 
the interiors of the better class of houses such breaths of fresh 
breeze as might be stirring in the upper regions of the air which 
lay so hot and heavy over that sun-parched plain. It was still 
comparatively early in the day when we passed through the city 
gates, and, after some enquiry, alighted at the caravansaray of 
Haji Kambar, where we secured two rooms, or rather cells, at 
a little distance from one another. My first business was to 
despatch my letters of introduction to the Seyyids and to Ardashir 
Mihraban the Zoroastrian, requesting them to appoint a time at 
which I might call and see them; having done which, I occupied 
the interval which must elapse before the return of my messenger 
in making such toilette as the citcumstances admitted of. 








GHUAPLER XIII 


YEZD 


“ Fy saba! ba sdkindn-i-shahr-i-Yexd az md bi-gi, 
‘K’ey sar-i-hakk-nd-shindsan guy-i-chawgdn-i-shumd ! 
Garché dir-im az bisat-i-kurb, himmat dur nist; 
Bandé-t-Shah-i-shuma’im, u sand-khwdn-t-shumd!?”’ 


“Rast-wind, when to Yezd thou wingest, say thou to its sons from me, 
‘May the head of every ingrate ball-like ’neath your mall-bat be. 
What though from your dais distant, near it by my wish I seem, 
Homage to your King I render, and I make your praise my theme.’” 


(HAriz, translated by Herman Bicknell.) 


CARCELY had I cleansed myself from the dust of travel, 

when I was informed that one had come who would have 
speech with me; and on my signifying my readiness to teceive 
him, a portly old man, clad in the dull yellow raiment of the 
guebres, was ushered in. Briefly saluting me, he introduced 
himself as the Dasttr Tir-andaz, high-priest of the Zoroastrians 
of Yezd, and proceeded to inform me that the Governor of the 
city, His Highness Prince ‘Imadu’d-Dawla, having learned that 
a European had just arrived in the town, had instructed him to 
interview the said European and ascertain his nationality, the 
business which had brought him to Yezd, and his rank and 
status, so that, if he should prove to be “distinguished” (wuta- 
shakhkhis), due honour might be shown him. 

“As for my nationality,” I replied, “I am English. As for 
my business, I am travelling for my own instruction and amuse- 
ment, and to perfect myself in the Persian language. And as 
for my rank, kindly assure the Governor that I have no official 
status, and am not ‘distinguished’ at all, so that he need not show 


398 YEZD 


me any honout, or put himself out of the way in the least degree 
on my account.” 

“Very good,” answered the fire-priest, “but what brings you 
to Yezd? If your only object were to learn Persian, you could 
have accomplished that at Teheran, Isfahan, or Shiraz, without 
crossing these deserts, and undergoing all the fatigues involved 
in this journey.” 

“Well,” I said, ‘““I wished to see as well as to learn, and my 
travels would not be complete without a sight of your ancient 
and interesting city. Besides which, I desired to learn something 
of those who profess the faith of Zoroaster, of which, as I under- 
stand, you are the high-priest.” 

“You would hardly undergo all the fatigues of a journey 
across these deserts for no better reason than that,” he retorted; 
“you must have had some other object, and I should be much 
obliged if you would communicate it to me.” 

I assuted him that I had no other object, and that in under- 
taking the journey to Yezd I was actuated by no other motive 
than curiosity and a desire to improve my mind. Seeing, how- 
ever, that he continued sceptical, asked him point-blank whether 
he believed my word or not; to which he replied very frankly 
that he did not. At this juncture another visitor was announced, 
who ptoved to be Ardashir Mihraban himself. He was a tall, 
slender, handsome man, of about forty-five or fifty years of age, 
light-complexioned, black-bearded, and clad in the yellow gar- 
ments of the Zoroastrians; and he spoke English (which he had 
learned in Bombay, where he had spent some years of his life) 
fluently and well. After conversing with me for a shott time, he 
departed with the Dastur. 

Hardly had these visitors left me when a servant came from 
the Seyyids to whom I had letters of introduction, to inform me 
that they would be glad to see me as soon as I could come. I 
therefore at once set out with the servant, and was conducted 
by him first to the house of Haji Seyyid M , who, surrounded 





YEZD 399 


by some ten or a dozen of his friends and relatives, was sitting 
out in the courtyard. I was very graciously received by them; 
and, while sherbet, tea, and the ka/ydn, or watet-pipe, were 
successively offered to me, the letter of introduction given to me 
by Mirza ‘Ali was passed round and tread by all present with 
expressions of approval, called forth, as I suppose, not so much 
by the very flattering terms in which it had pleased my friend 
to speak of me, as by what he had written concerning my eaget- 
ness to learn mote of the Babi religion, to which my new friends 
also belonged. Nothing was said, however, on this topic; and, 
after about an hour’s general conversation, I left in company 
with Mirza M—— to visit his father Haji Mirza M - ; 
to whom also I had a letter of introduction. There I remained 
conversing till after dusk, when I returned to the caravansaray, 
and, while waiting for my supper, fell into so profound a slumber 
that my servant was unable to wake me. 

To go supperless to bed conduces above all things to early 
rising, and by 6.30 a.m. on the following morning I had finished 
my breakfast, and was eager to see something of the city of Yezd. 
My servant wished to go to the bath, but the Erivani, who had 
attached himself to me since I first made his acquaintance, 
volunteered to accompany me. We wandered for a while through 
the bazaars, and he then suggested that we should enquire of 
some of the townsfolk whether there was any public garden 
where we could sit and rest for a time. I readily acquiesced in this 
plan, and we soon found ourselves in the garden of Dawlat- 
abad, where we sat in a shady corner and conversed with an old 
gardener who had been for thirteen months a slave in the hands 
of the Turcomans. He had been taken prisoner by them near 
the Kal‘at-i-Nadiri about the time that Hamzé Mirza was be- 
sieging Mashhad (1848), and described very graphically his 
experiences in the Turcoman slave-market; how he and his 
companions in misfortune, stripped almost naked, were inspected 
and examined by intending purchasers, and finally knocked down 








400 YEZD 


by the broker to the highest bidder. He had finally effected his 
escape duting a raid into Persian territory, in which he had 
accompanied the marauders as a guide, exactly after the manner 
of the immortal Haji Baba. He and the Erivani joined cordially 
in abusing the Turcomans, whom they described as more like 
wild beasts than men. “They have no sense of fear,” said the 
latter, ““and will never submit, however great may be the odds 
against them; even their women and children will die fighting. 
That was why the Russians made so merciless a massacre of 
them, and why, after the massacre was overt, they piled up the 
bodies of the slain into a gigantic heap, poured petroleum over 
it, and set it on fire, that perhaps this horrible spectacle might 
terrify the survivors into submission.” 

About mid-day we returned to the caravansaray, and I was 
again forced to consider my plans for the future, for Baba Khan 
came to enquire whether he should wait to convey me back to 
Dihbid, or whether I intended to proceed to Kirman on leaving 
Yezd. I paid him the remainder of the money due to him, gave 
him a present of seven &rdus, and told him that, unless he heard 
from me to the contrary before sunset, he might consider himself 
free to depart. 

Later in the afternoon, two Zoroastrians came to inform me 
that Ardashir Mihraban, in whose employment they were, was 
willing to place his garden and the little house in it at my disposal 
during my stay at Yezd. It had been occupied about a month 
before by another Englishman, Lieutenant H. B. Vaughan, who 
had undertaken a very adventurous and arduous journey across 
Persia, from Bandar-i-Lingé, on the Persian Gulf, to Damghan 
ot Shahrud, on the Mashhad-Teheran road, and who had tarried 
for some while at Yezd to make preparations for crossing the 
western corner of the great Salt Desert. I of course gratefully 
accepted this offer, for the caravansaray was not a pleasant 
dwelling-place, and besides this, I was anxious to enjoy more 
opportunities of cultivating the acquaintance of the Zoroastrians, 


YEZD 4o1 


for which, as I rightly anticipated, this arrangement would give 
me exceptional facilities. I could not repress a feeling of exulta- 
tion when I reflected that I had at length succeeded in so isolating 
myself, not only from my own countrymen, but from my co- 
religionists, that the most closely allied genus to which I could 
be assigned by the Yezdis was that of the guebres, for whom I 
already entertained a feeling of respect, which further knowledge 
of that much-suffering people has only served to increase. 

Haji Safar was out when this message was brought to me, 
and, as I could not leave the caravansaray until I had instructed 
him as to the removal of my baggage, we were compelled to 
await his return. During this interval a message came from Haji 
Seyyid M——-, asking me to go to his house, whither, accord- 
ingly, on my servant’s return, I proceeded in company with the 
two Zoroastrians, one of whom, named Bahman, spoke English 
well. 

On arriving at Haji Seyyid M ’s house, I was delighted 
to find a theological discussion in progress. An attempt was 
evidently being made to convert an old mul/d, of singularly 
attractive and engaging countenance, to the Babi faith. Only 
one of the Babis was speaking, a man of about thirty-five years 
of age, whose eloquence filled me with admiration. It was not 
till later that I learned that he was “Andalib (“the Nightingale’’), 
one of the most distinguished of the poets who have consecrated 
their talents to the glory of the New Theophany. “And so in 
every dispensation,” he resumed, as soon as I had received and 
returned the greetings of those present, “the very men who 
professed to be awaiting the new Manifestation most eagerly 
were the first to deny it, abandoning the ‘Most Firm Hand- 
hold’ of God’s Truth to lay hold of the frail thread of their own 
imaginings. You talk of miracles; but of what evidential value 
are miracles to me, unless I have seen them? Has not every 
religion accounts of miracles, which, had they ever taken place, 
must, one would have thought, have compelled all men to 





B 26 


402 MERZ 


believe; for who would dare, however hard of heart he might 
be, to fight with a Power which he could not ignore or misunder- 
stand? No, it is the Divine Word which 1s the token and sign 
of a prophet, the convincing proof to all men and all ages, the 
everlasting miracle. Do not misunderstand the matter: when the 
Prophet of God called his verses “signs” (dydt), and declared 
the Kur’4n to be his witness and proof, he did not intend to 
imply, as some vainly suppose, that the eloquence of the words 
was a proof. How, for instance, can you or I, who are Persians, 
judge whether the eloquence of a book written in Arabic be 
supernatural or not? No: the essential characteristic of the Divine 
Word is its penetrative power (wufadh): it is not spoken in vain, 
it compels, it constrains, it creates, it rules, it works in men’s 
hearts, it lives and dies not. The Apostle of God said, ‘in the 
month of Ramazan men shall fast from sunrise to sunset.’ See 
how hard a thing this is; and yet here in Yezd there are thousands 
who, if you bade them break the fast or die, would prefer death 
to disobedience. Wherever one arises speaking this Word, know 
him to be a Manifestation of the Divine Will, believe in him, 
and take his yoke upon you.” 

“But this claim,” said the old mw//d, “this claim! It is a hard 
word that He utters. What can we do or say?” 

“For the rest, He hath said it,”’ replied “Andalib, “‘and it 1s 
for us, who have seen that this Divine Word is His, to accept it.” 
There was silence for a little while, and then the old mu//é arose 
witha sigh, and repeating, “It is difficult, very difficult,” departed 
from our midst. 

Soon afterwards I too left, and, accompanied by my Zoro- 
astrian friends, made my way to the garden of Ardashir Mihra- 
ban, situated at the southern limit of the town, hard by the open 
plain. I found my host and the old fire-priest awaiting me, and 
received from both of them a most cordial welcome. The latter 
informed me with some elation that the Governor, Prince 
‘Imadu’d-Dawla, had, in spite of my representations (which he, 


YEZD 403 


like the Dasttir, no doubt regarded as the fabrications of an 
accomplished liar, whose readiness in falsehood afforded at least 
some presumptive evidence of a diplomatic vocation), decided 
to treat me as “distinguished,” and would on the morrow send 
me a lamb and a tray of sweetmeats as signs of his goodwill. 
“His Highness wished to send them sooner,” he concluded, 
“but I told him that you were not yet established in a suitable 
lodging, and he therefore consented to wait. When the presents 
come, you will have to call upon him and express your thanks.” 
I was rather annoyed at this, for “distinction” in Persia means 
much useless trouble and expense, and I wished above all things 
to be free and unconstrained; but I did not then know Prince 
‘Imadu’d-Dawla for what he was, the most just, righteous, and 
cultured governor to be found in any town or province of Petsia. 
Devotion to philosophical studies, and the most tolerant views 
of other religions, did not prevent him from strictly observing 
the duties laid upon him by his own creed; he was adored by the 
poor oppressed Zoroasttians, who found in him a true pro- 
tector, and, I believe, by all well-disposed and law-abiding persons: 
and it was with a very sincere sorrow that I learned, soon after 
my return to England, that he had been dismissed from the office 
which he so nobly and conscientiously filled. 

The change from the hot, dusty caravansaray to this beautiful 
garden was in itself a great pleasure, and my delight was en- 
hanced by the fact that I was now in an environment essentially 
and thoroughly Zoroastrian. My servant and the Erivn(, 
indeed, still bore me company; but, except for them and oc- 
casional Musulman and Babi visitors, I was entirely thrown on 
the society of the yellow-robed worshippers of fire. The old 
priest, Dastur Tir-andaz, who at first seemed to regard me with 
some suspicion, was quite won over by finding that I was 
acquainted with the spurious “heavenly books” known as the 
Desdtir, about the genuineness of which neither he nor Ar- 
dashir appeared to entertain the slightest doubt. Ardashir sat 


26-2 


404 WEHZD 


conversing with me after the others had departed, for it had 
been stipulated by Haji Seyyid M-—— that my meals were to be 
provided by himself; and as his house was at some distance from 
the garden, it was nearly 10 p.m. before I got my supper. “ Khané- 
t-di ked-bant nd-rufté bibtar” (“The house with two landladies is 
best unswept”’), remarked my host, as the night advanced with- 
out any sign of supper appearing. However, the time was not 
wasted, for I managed to get Ardashir to talk of his religion 
and its ordinances, and especially of the kusht7 or sacred cord 
which the Zoroastrians wear. This consists of seventy-two fibres 
woven into twelve strands of six fibres each, the twelve strands 
being further woven into three cords of four strands each. These 
three cords, which are plaited together to form the kushii, 
represent the three fundamental principles of the Zoroastrian 
faith, good thoughts (/a-manishni), good words (hu-go’ishni), and 
good deeds (hu-kunishni), the other subdivisions having each 
in like manner a symbolical meaning. The investiture of the 
young Zoroastrian with the kusht7Z admits him formally to the 
church of ‘“‘those of the Good Religion” (Brh-dindn); and he is 
then taught how to tie the peculiar knot wherewith it must be 
re-fastened at each of the panj-gah, or five times of prayer. Ardashir 
also spoke of the duty incumbent on them of keeping pure the 
four elements, adding that they did not smoke tobacco out of 
respect for fire. 

Although of the three weeks that I spent at Yezd there was 
not one day which passed unprofitably, or on which I did not 
see or hear some new thing, I think that I shall do better to dis- 
regard the actual sequence of events in recording what appears 
worthy of mention, so as to bring together kindred matters in 
one connection, and so avoid the repetitions and ruptures of 
sequence which too close an adherence to a diary must necessarily 
produce. 

First, then, of the Zoroastrians. Of these there are said to be 
from 7000 to 10,000 in Yezd and its dependencies, nearly all 


YEZD 405 


of them being engaged either in mercantile business or agri- 
culture. From what I saw of them, both at Yezd and Kirman, 
I formed a very high idea of their honesty, integrity, and in- 
dustry. Though less liable to molestation now than in former 
times, they often meet with ill-treatment and insult at the hands 
of the mote fanatical Muhammadans, by whom they are regarded 
as pagans, not equal even to Christians, Jews, and other “people 
of the book” (ahiv’Lkitdb). Thus they are compelled to wear the 
dull yellow raiment already alluded to as a distinguishing badge; 
they are not permitted to wear socks, or to wind their turbans 
tightly and neatly, or to ride a horse; and if, when riding even 
a donkey, they should chance to meet a Musulman, they must 
dismount while he passes, and that without regard to his age or 
rank. 

So much for the petty annoyances to which they are con- 
tinually subject. These are humiliating and vexatious only; but 
occasionally, when there is a period of interregnum, or when 
a bad or priest-ridden governor holds office, and the “/#zs,” 
ot troughs, of Yezd wax bold, wotse befalls them. During the 
period of confusion which intervened between the death of 
Muhammad Shah and the accession of Nasiru’d-Din Shah, 
many of them were robbed, beaten, and threatened with death, 
unless they would renounce their ancient faith and embrace 
Islam; not a few wete actually done to death. There was one old 
Zotoastrian still living at Yezd when I was there who had been 
beaten, threatened, and finally wounded with pistol shots in 
several places by these fanatical Muslims, but he stood firm in 
his refusal to renounce the faith of his fathers, and, more for- 
tunate than many of his brethren, escaped with his life. 

So likewise, as I was informed by the Dastur, about twelve 
yeats pteviously the Muhammadans of Yezd threatened to sack 
the Zoroastrian quarter and kill all the guebres who would not 
consent to embrace Islam, alleging as a reason for this atrocious 
design that one of the Zoroastrians had killed a Musulman. The 


406 YEZD 


govetnor of Yezd professed himself powerless to protect the 
guebtes, and strove to induce them to sign a document exoner- 
ating him from all blame in whatever might take place; but 
fortunately they had the firmness to refuse compliance until one 
of the Musulmans who had killed a Zoroastrian woman was put 
to death, after which quiet was restored. 

On another occasion a Musulman was murdered by another 
Musulman who had disguised himself as a guebre. The Muham- 
madans threatened to sack the Zoroastrian quarter and make 
a general massacre of its inmates unless the supposed murderer 
was given up. The person whom they suspected was one Nam- 
dar, a telative of the chief fire-priest. He, innocent as he was, 
refused to imperil his brethren by remaining amongst them. 
“T will go before the governor,” he said, “‘for it is better that 
I should lose my life than that our whole community should be 
endangered.” So he went forth, prepared to die; but fortunately 
at the last moment the real murderer was discovered and put to 
death. Ardashir’s own brother Rashid was murdered by fanatical 
Musulmans as he was walking through the bazaars, and I saw 
the tablet put up to his memoty 1n one of the fire-temples of 
Yezd. 

Under the enlightened administration of Prince ‘Imadu’d- 
Dawla, the Zoroastrians, as I have already said, enjoyed com- 
parative peace and security, but even he was not always able 
to keep in check the ferocious intolerance of bigots and the 
savage brutality of /it7s. While I was in Yezd a Zoroastrian was 
bastinadoed for accidentally touching with his garment some 
fruit exposed for sale in the bazaar, and thereby, in the eyes of 
the Musulmans, rendering it unclean and unfit for consumption 
by true believers. On another occasion I heard that the wife of 
a poor Zoroastrian, a woman of singular beauty, was washing 
clothes near the town, when she was noticed with admiration 
by two Musulmans who were passing by. Said one to the other, 
“She would do well for your embraces.” “Just what I was 


YEZD 407 


thinking,” replied the other wretch, who thereupon approached 
her, clasped her in his arms, and tried to kiss her. She resisted 
and cried for help, whereupon the Musulmans got angry and 
threw her into the stream. Next day the Zoroastrians com- 
plained to the Prince-Governor, and the two cowardly scoundrels 
were arrested and brought before him. Great hopes were enter- 
tained by the Zoroastrians that condign and summary punish- 
ment would be inflicted on them; but some of the mu//ds, acting 
in concert with the Malku’t-tayjdr or chief merchant of Yezd 
(a man of low origin, having, as was currently reported, ko// or 
gipsy blood in his veins), interfered with bribes and threats, and 
so intimidated an old Zoroastrian, who was the chief witness 
for the prosecution, that he finally refused to say more than 
that he had heard the girl cry out for help, and on looking 
round had seen her in the water. I know not how the matter 
ended, but I greatly fear that justice was defeated. 

On another occasion, however, the Prince-Governor inter- 
vened successfully to check the following unjust and evil 
practice. When a Zoroastrian renounces his faith and embraces 
Islam, it is considered by the Musulmans that he has a right 
to the property and money of his unregenerate kinsmen. A 
case of this sort had arisen, and a sum of ninety témdns (nearly 
£28) had been taken by the renegade from his relatives. The 
latter appealed to the Prince, who insisted’ on its restoration, 
to the mortification of the pervert and his new friends, and 
the delight of the Zoroastrians, especially old Dastur Tir-andaz, 
who, when he related the incident to me, was almost incoherent 
with exultation, and continually interrupted his narrative to 
pray for the long life and prosperity of Prince ‘Imadu’d-Dawla. 
Nor was this the only expression of gratitude which the Prince’s 
justice and toleration called forth from the poor oppressed 
guebres. One day, as he himself informed me, on the occasion 
of my farewell visit to his palace, he was riding abroad accom- 
panied by three servants only (for he loved not ostentation) 


408 YEZD 


when he met a patty of Zoroastrian women. Reining in his 
horse, he enquired how things went with them, and whether 
they enjoyed comfort and safety. They, not knowing who he was, 
and supposing him to be an ordinary Persian gentleman, replied 
that, though formerly they had suffered much, now, by the 
blessing of God and the justice of the new governor, they enjoyed 
perfect safety and security, and feared molestation from none. 
Then they asked him to what part of the country he belonged; 
and he, when he had fenced with them for a while, told them, to 
their astonishment and confusion, who he was! 

I was naturally anxious to see some of the fire-temples, 
and finally, after repeated requests, a day was fixed for visiting 
them. I was taken first to the oldest temple, which was in a 
vety tuinous condition (the Muhammadans not suffering it to 
be repaired), and presented little of interest save two tablets 
bearing Persian inscriptions, one of which bore the date A.y. 1009 
as that of the completion of the tablet or the temple, I know not 
which. Leaving this, we proceeded to a newer, larger, and much 
more flourishing edifice, on entering which I saw, to my great 
delight, in a room to the left of the passage of entry, the sacred 
fire burning bright on its tripod, while around it two or three 
mubads ot fire-priests, with veils covering their mouths and the 
lower part of their faces, droned their Zend liturgies. These 
veils, as Ardashir informed me, are intended to obviate the 
danger of the fire being polluted by the officiating priest coughing 
ot spitting upon it. I was not, however, allowed to gaze upon 
this interesting spectacle for more than a few moments, but was 
‘hurried on to a large and well-carpeted room in the interior 
of the building, looking out on a little courtyard planted with 
pomegranate trees. Here I was recetved by several of the fire- 
ptiests, who regaled us with a delicious sherbet. The buildings 
surrounding the other three sides of the courtyard were, as I 
was informed, devoted to educational purposes, and serve as a 
school for the Zoroastrian children. This temple was built 


YEZD 409 


comparatively recently by some of Ardashit’s relatives, and on 
one of its walls was the memorial tablet to his murdered brother 
Rashid. 

Leaving this, we visited a third temple, a portion of which 
setves as a theological college for the training of youths destined 
for the priesthood, who, to some extent at least, study Zend 
and Pahlavi; though I do not fancy that any high standard of 
proficiency in the sacred languages is often attained by them. 
The space allotted to these young theologians was not very 
ample, being, indeed, only a sort of gallery at one end of the 
chief room. At the opposite end was spread a carpet, on which 
a few chairs were set; and in a niche in the wall stood a little 
vase containing sprigs of a plant not unlike privet which the 
dastur called by a name I could not rightly catch, though it 
sounded to me like “ndwd.” ‘This plant, I was further informed, 
was used in certain of their religious ceremonies, and “turned 
round the sun”; but concerning it, as well as sundry other 
matters whereof I would fain have learned more, my guides 
showed a certain reserve which I felt constrained to respect. 
Here also I was allowed a glimpse of the sacred fire burning in 
a little chamber apart (whence came the odour of ignited sandal- 
wood and the droning of Zend chants), and of the white-veiled 
mibad who tended it. A picture of Zoroaster (taken, as Ardashir 
told me, from an old sculpture at Balkh), and several inscriptions 
on the walls of the large central room, were the only other points 
of interest presented by the building. 

On leaving this temple, which is situated in the very centre 
of the “ Gabr-Mapballa,” or Zoroastrian quarter, I was conducted 
to the house of Ardashir’s brother, Guidarz, between tows of 
Zoroastrian men and boys who had come out to gaze on the 
Firangi stranger. To me the sight of these yellow-robed votaries 
of an old-world faith, which twelve centuries of persecution and 
insult have not succeeded in uprooting from its native soil, was 
at least as interesting as the sight of me can have been to them, 


410 YEZD 


and I was much struck both by their decorous conduct and by 
the high average of their good looks. Their religion has pre- 
vented them from intermarrying with Turks, Arabs, and other 
non-Atyans, and they consequently represent the purest Persian 
type, which in physical beauty can hardly be surpassed. 

At the house of Ardashit’s brother, Gudarz, I met the chief- 
priest of the Zoroastrians, who was suffering from gout, and a 
number of my host’s male relatives, with whom I stayed con- 
versing till 8.30 p.m., hospitably entertained with tea, wine, 
brandy, and kebdbs. Wine-drinking plays a great part in the 
daily life of the guebre; but, though I suppose not one total 
abstainer could be found amongst them, I never but once saw a 
Zotoastrian the worse for drink. With the Musulmans the con- 
trary holds good; when they drink, it is too often with the 
deliberate intention of getting drunk, on the principle, I suppose, 
that ““when the water has gone over the head, what matters it 
whether it be a fathom or a hundred fathoms?” To a Zoro- 
astrian it is lawful to drink wine and spirits, but not to exceed; 
to a Muhammadan the use and the abuse of alcohol are equally 
unlawful. The Zoroastrian drinks because he likes the taste of 
the wine and the glow of good fellowship which it produces; 
the Muhammadan, on the contrary, commonly detests the taste 
of wine and spirits, and will, after each draught, make a grimace 
expressive of disgust, rinse out his mouth, and eat a lump of 
sugar; what he enjoys is not drinking, but being drunk, even as 
the great mystical poet Jalalu’d-Din Rumi says— 

“* Nang-i-bang u khamr bar khud mi-nihi 
Td dami az khwishtan ti vd-rabi.” 
“Thou takest on thyself the shame of hemp and wine 
In order that thou may’st for one moment escape from thyself.” 

The drinking-cup (jdm) used at Yezd and Kirman is not a 
glass but a little brass bowl. On the inside of this the Zoro- 
astrians often have engraved the names of dead friends and 
relatives, to whose memory they drink as the wine goes round 


YEZD AII 


with such formule as “‘Khudd pidarat biydmurzad” (“May God 
patdon thy father!”’), “Khudd mddarat biydmurzad” (“May God 
patdon thy mother!”’), “Khuda biydmurzad hama-i-raftagdn-rd” 
(“May God pardon all the departed!’’). The following in- 
sctiption from Ardashir’s drinking-cup may suffice as a speci- 
men:— 

Sdbiba-i-marhim Mthraban ibn Rustam-i-Bahrdm. Har kas kar farmdyad 
“Khuda biyamurzi’ bi-Mibrabdn-i-Rustam, va Sarvar-i-Ardashir, va Gulchihr-t- 
Mthrabdn bi-dihad: haftdd pusht-t-ishin amurzidé bdd! 1286 hijri.” 


“The wife of the beatified Mihraban, the son of Rustam, [the son] of 
Bahram. Let every one who may make use [of this cup] give a ‘God pardon!” 
to Mihraban [the son] of Rustam, and Sarvar [the son] of Ardashir, and Gul- 
chihr [the daughter] of Mihraban: may they be pardoned unto seventy 
generations! A.H. 1286.” 

In drinking to the health of companions the formula (used also 
by Muhammadans when they drink) 1s “ Bz-salématt-i-shumd!” 
(“To your health!’’), the answer to which is “‘ N&sh-i-jdn-bad!” 
(“May it be sweet to your soul!”’). I had ample opportunity of 
learning how to drink wine “according to the rite of Zoroaster,” 
for almost every afternoon Ardashir, accompanied either by 
Dastur Tit-andaz, or by his brother Gudarz, or by his manager 
Bahman, or by other Zoroastrians, used to come to the garden 
and sit by the little stream, which for a few hours only (for 
water is bought for a price in Yezd) refreshed the drooping 
flowers. Then, unless Muhammadan or Babi visitors chanced to 
be present, wine and ‘arak were brought forth by old Jamshid, 
the gardener, or his little son Khusraw; fresh young cucumbers, 
and other relishes, such as the Persian wine-drinker loves, were 
produced; and the brass drinking-cups were drained again and 
again to the memories of the dead and the healths of the living. 

It was on these occasions that conversation flowed most 
freely, and that I learned most about the Zoroastrian religion 
anid its votaries. This is not the place to deal with the subject 
systematically, and I shall confine myself to noticing a few matters 
which actually came under discussion. 


412 YEZD 


The Zotoasttian year is solar, not lunar like the Muham- 
madan, and consists of twelve months of thirty days each, and 
five additional days called gatd (corresponding to the Muham- 
madan “hamsa-i-mustaraka”’) to bring the total up to 365. 
The year begins at the vernal equinox, when the sun enters the 
sion of Aries (about 21st March), and is inaugurated’ by the 
ancient national festival of the Nawr#z, or New Yeat’s Day, 
which, as has been already mentioned, is observed no less by the 
Muhammadans than by the Zoroastrians of Persia. Each day 
of the month is presided over by an angel or archangel (of whom 
there are seven, called Amshaspands, to each of which a day of 
the first week is allotted), save that three days, the 8th, 15th, 
and 23rd of the month, are, like the first, sacred to Ormuzd. 
These are holy days, and are collectively known as the S7-dey. 
The following is a list of the days of the month, each of which 
is called by the name of the angel presiding over it:—(1) Ormuzd; 
(2) Bahman, the angel of flocks and herds; (3) Urdi-bihisht, the 
angel of light; (4) Shabrivar, the angel of jewels, gold, and 
minerals; (5) S7pandarmaz, the angel of the earth; (6) Khurddd, 
the angel of water and streams; (7) Amurddd, the angel of trees 
and plants; (8) Dey-bi--Adbar, the first of the S7-dey, sacred to 
Ormuzd; (9) Adhar; (10) Abdn; (11) Khir; (12) Mah; (13) Tir; 
(14) Gash; (15) Dey-bi-Mihr, the second of the Si-dey; (16) Mihr; 
(17) Surish; (18) Rashn; (19) Farvardin; (20) Bahrdm; (21) Ram; 
(22) Ddd; (23) Dey-bi-Din, the third of the Si-dey; (24) Din; 
(25) Ard; (26) Ashtdd; (27) Asmdn; (28) Zdmydd; (29) Muntra- 
sipand; (30) Andrdm. Of these thirty names twelve belong also 
to the months, as follows:— 


ks 1. Farvardin. : 7. Mihr. 
* har) | 2. Urdi-bibisht. ' BBN 8. Abdn. 
Say 3. Khurddd. aes 9. Adbar. 
SUMMER ae us ; WINTER ( eeeG? 
5. Amurddd. Bahman. 


6. Shahrivar. 
The week has no place in the Zoroastrian calendar, with which, 


ys , 5 ; 4 es 
(Tdbistan). | (Camistaa | 12. Sipandarmaz. 


YEZD 413 


as 1 have elsewhere pointed out (Ivaveller’s Narrative, vol. i, 
p. 414, n. 1; and J.R.A.S. for 1889, p. 929), the arrangement of 
the solar year instituted by the Babis presents many points of 
similarity which can hardly be regarded as accidental!. As an 
example of the very simple manner in which dates are expressed 
according to the Zoroastrian calendar, I may quote the following 
lines from a Persian poem occurring in a Zend-Pahlavi MS. of 
the Vendidad of which I shall have something more to say 
shortly:— 
“ Bi-réz-i-Gush, 4 dar mah-i-Amurdad 
Sene nub-sad, digar bud haft u haftdd, 
Zi fawt-i-Y axdijird-i-shahriydran 
Kuja bigzashté bud az ruz gdrdn, 
Navishtam nisf-i-V endidad-i-avval 
Rasanidam, bi-lutf-i-Hakk, bi-manzil.” 
“On the day of Gush (the 14th day), and in the month of Amurdad (the 5th 
month), 7 
When nine hundred years, and beyond that seven and seventy, 
From the death of Yazdijird the king 
Had passed of time, 
I wrote the first half of the Vendidad, 
And brought it, by God’s grace, to conclusion.” 
A little consideration will show the reader that one day in each 
month will bear the same name as the month, and will be under 
the protection of the same angel. Thus the nineteenth day of 
the first month will be “‘the day of Farvatdin in the month of 
Farvardin,” the third day of the second month “the day of Urdi- 
bihisht in the month of Urdi-bihisht,” and so on. Such days are 
kept as festivals by the Zoroastrians. 

The angel Rashn, who presides over the eighteenth day of 
each month, corresponds, in some degree, to the angels Munkar 
and Nakir in the Muhammadan system. On the fourth day 
after a Zoroastrian dies this angel comes to him, and weighs in 
a balance his good and his bad deeds. If the former are in 
excess, the departed is admitted into paradise; if the latter, he 
is punished—so my Zoroastrian friends informed me—by being 

1 Cf. pp. 367-8, supra. 


AI4 YEZD 


re-incatnated in this world for another period of probation, 
which re-incarnation is what is signified by the term “‘hell”’ 
(dizakh)*. Paradise, in like manner, was understood by my 
friends of Yezd in a spiritual sense as indicating a state rather 
than a place. I shall not readily forget an altercation on this 
subject which arose between the Dastur Tir-andaz and my 
Muhammadan servant Haji Safar. The latter had, I think, pro- 
voked the dispute by applying the term dfash-parast (“fire- 
worshipper’’) to the followers of Zoroaster, or it had been other- 
wise introduced. The Dastur at once flashed out in anger. “What 
ails you if we prostrate ourselves before the pure element of 
fire,” said he, ““when you Muhammadans grovel before a dirty 
black stone, and the Christians bow down before the symbol of 
the cross? Our fire is, I should think, at least as honourable and 
approptiate a kib/a as these, and as for worshipping it, we no 
more worship it than do you your symbols. And you Muham- 
madans” (turning to Haji Safar) “have of all men least right to 
charge us with holding a gross or material creed; you, whose 
conception of paradise is as a garden flowing with streams of 
milk and wine and honey, and inhabited by fair boys and lan- 
guishing black-eyed maidens. Your idea of paradise, in short, 
is a place where you will be able to indulge in those sensual 
pleasures which constitute your highest happiness. I spit on 
such a paradise!” Haji Safar cried out upon him fora blasphemer, 
and seemed disposed to go further, but I bade him leave the room 
and learn to respect the religion of others if he wished them to 
respect his. Later on, when the Zoroastrians had gone, he 
renewed the subject with me, remarking that the Dastur deserved 
to die for having spoken such blasphemy; to which I replied 
that, though I had no desire to interfere with his conscience, or, 
in general, to hinder him in the discharge of the duties imposed 
upon him by his religion, I must request him to put a check 


1 I suspect, however, that this is a modern doctrine, derived from the 
apocryphal Desdtir alluded to at p. 403, supra. 


YEZD AI5 


upon his zeal in this matter, at least so long as he remained in 
my service. 

In general, however, I found my Zoroastrian friends very 
tolerant and liberal in their views. Ardashir was never tired 
of repeating that in one of their prayers they invoked the help 
of “the good men of the seven regions” (khubdn-i-haft kishvar), 
Z.e. of the whole world; and that they did not regard faith in 
their religion as essential to salvation. Against the Arabs, in- 
deed, I could see that they cherished a very bitter hatred, which 
the Dastur at least was at little pains to conceal; Kadisiyya and 
Nahavand were not forgotten; and, with but little exaggeration, 
the words of warning addressed to the Arabs settled in Persia 
in the second century of the Aira by Nasr ibn Seyyar, the Arab 
Governor of Khurasan, might be applied to them:— 

“Fa-man yakun sa’ilt ‘an ash dinthimu, 
Fa@’inna dinahumu an yuktala’ l- Arabu.” 


“And should one question me as to the essence of their religion, 
Verily their religion is that the Arabs should be slain.” 


From these poor guebres, however, I received more than one 
lesson in meekness and toleration. “Injustice and harshness,” 
said Bahman to me one day, “are best met with submission and 
patience, for thereby the hearts of enemies are softened, and they 
are often converted into friends. An instance of this came within 
my own experience. One day, as I was passing through the 
meydin, a young Muhammadan purposely jostled me and then 
struck me, crying, “Out of the way, guebre!’ Though angered 
at this uncalled-for attack, I swallowed down my anger, and 
replied with a smile, “Very well, just as you like.’ An old Seyyid 
who was near at hand, seeing the wanton insolence of my tot- 
mentor, and my submission and patience, rebuked him sharply, 
saying, “What harm had this poor man done to you that you 
should strike and insult him?’ A quarrel arose between the two, 
and finally both were taken before the Governor, who, on learn- 
ing the truth of the matter, caused the youth to be beaten. Now, 


416 YEZD 


had I in the first instance given vent to my anger, the Seyyid 
would certainly not have taken my part, every Musulman present 
would have sided with his co-religionist against me, and I should 
probably have been beaten instead of my adversary.” 

On another occasion I had been telling another of Ardashit’s 
assistants named Irdn about the Englishman at Shiraz who had 
turned Muhammadan. “I think he is sorry for it now,” I con- 
cluded, “‘for he has cut himself off from his own people, and is 
regarded with suspicion or contempt by many of the Musulmans, 
who keep a sharp watch over him to see that he punctually dis- 
charges all the duties laid upon him by the religion of Islam. 
I wish him well out of it, and hope that he may succeed in his 
plan of returning to his home and his aged mother; but I mis- 
doubt it. I think he wished to join himself to me and come here, 
that he might proceed homewards by way of Mashhad; but I was 
not very desitous of his company.” 

“Tt is quite true,” replied Iran, “that a bad companion is 
worse than none, for, as Sa‘di says, it is better to go barefoot 
than with tight shoes. Yet, if you will not take it amiss, would 
you not do well, if you return to Shiraz, to take this man with 
you, and to bring him, and if possible his Muhammadan wife also, 
to England? This would assuredly be a good action: he would 
return to the faith he has renounced, and his wife also might 
become a Christian; they and their children after them would 
be gained to your religion, and yours would be the merit. Often 
it happens that one of us Zoroastrians, either through mere 
ignorance and heedlessness, or because he is in love with a 
Muhammadan girl whom he cannot otherwise win, renounces 
the faith of his fathers and embraces Islam. Such not un- 
frequently repent of their action, and in this case we supply them 
with money to take them to Bombay, where they can return, 
without the danger which they would incur here, to their former 
faith. Often their Muhammadan wives also adopt the Zoroastrian 
religion, and thus a whole family is won over to our creed.” 


YEZD AIT 


“T was not aware,” I remarked, “that it was possible under 
any circumstances for one not born a Zoroastrian to become one. 
Do you consent to receive back a renegade after any lapse of 
time?” 

“No,” answered Iran, “not after six months or so; for if 
they remain Musulmans for longer than this, their hearts are 
turned black and incurably infected by the law of Islam, and we 
cannot then receive them back amongst us.” 

Of the English, towards whom they look as their natural 
protectors, the Persian Zoroastrians have a very high opinion, 
though several of them, and especially Dastur Tir-andaz, de- 
plored the supineness of the English Government, and the apathy 
with which it regards the hands stretched out to it for help. 
“You do not realise,” said they, “what a shield and protection 
the English name ts, else you would surely not grudge it to poor 
unfortunates for whom no one cares, and who in any time of 
disturbance are liable to be killed or plundered without redress.” 
After my return to England I, and I think Lieutenant Vaughan 
also, made certain representations to the Foreign Office, which 
I believe were not ineffectual; for, as I subsequently learned, a 
Zoroastrian had been appointed British Agent in Yezd. This was 
what the Zoroasttrians so earnestly desired, for they believed 
that the British flag would protect their community even in times 
of the gravest danger. 

Although the Zoroastrian women do not veil their faces, and 
ate not subjected to the restrictions imposed on their Muham- 
madan sisters, I naturally saw but little of them. Twice, how- 
ever, parties of guebre girls came to the garden to gaze in amused 
wonder at the Firangi stranger. Those composing the first party 
were, I believe, related to Ardashir, and were accompanied by 
two men. The second party (introduced by old Jamshid the 
gardener, who did the honours, and metaphorically stirred me 
up with a long pole to exhibit me to better advantage) consisted 
of young girls, one or two of whom were extremely pretty. These 


B 27 


418 VEZ D 


conducted themselves less sedately, and, to judge by their rippling 
laughter, found no little amusement in the spectacle. 

Old Dasttr Tir-and4z was to me one of the most interesting, 
because one of the most thoroughgoing and least sophisticated, 
of the Zoroastrians. He appeared to be in high favour with the 
governor, Prince ‘Imadu’d-Dawla, from whom he was con- 
tinually bringing messages of goodwill to me. In three of the 
four visits which I paid to the Prince, he bore me company, 
standing outside in the courtyard while I sat within. My first 
visit was paid the morning after I had received the lamb and the 
tray of sweetmeats wherewith the Prince, on the representations 
of the Dastur, already described, was graciously pleased to mark 
his sense of my “‘distinction.”” Accompanied by the Prince’s 
pishkhidmat, ot page-in-waiting (an intolerably conceited youth), 
and several farrdshes, who had been sent to form my escort, we 
walked to the Government House, which was situated at the 
other end of the town, by the Arg or citadel. The Dastur, who 
walked by my side, was greatly troubled that I had not a horse 
ot attendants of my own, and seemed to think that my apparel 
(which, indeed, was somewhat the worse for wear) was hardly 
equal to the occasion. As I preferred walking to riding, and as I 
had not come to Yezd to see princes or to indulge in ostentatious 
parade, these considerations did not affect me in the least, except 
that I was rather annoyed by the persistence with which the 
Dastur repeated to the Prince-Governor that I had come chdpar 
(by post-horses) from Shiraz with only such effects as were 
absolutely necessary, and that a telegram must be sent to Shiraz 
to have my baggage forwarded with all speed to Yezd. The 
Prince, however, was vety good-natured, and treated me with 
the greatest kindness, enquiring especially as to the books on 
philosophy and mysticism which I had tead and bought. I 
mentioned several, and he expressed high approval of the 
selection which I had made, especially commending the Lawd’ih 
of Jami, Lahiji’s Commentary on the Gu/shan-i-Raz, and Jami’s 


YEZD 419 


Ashi‘atu’'l-Lama‘dt, of Commentary on the Lama‘dt of ‘Traki. Of 
Haji Mulla Hadi’s Asrdru’/-Hikam, on the other hand, he did 
not appear to have a very high opinion. He further questioned 
me as to my plans for the future, and, on learning that I proposed 
to proceed to Kirman, promised to give me a letter of recom- 
mendation to Prince Nasiru’d-Dawla, the governor of that place, 
and also, to my consternation, expressed his intention of sending 
an escort with me. I was accompanied back to the garden by the 
farrdshes, to whom I had to give a present of two témdns (about 
135.). 

The Prince’s attentions, though kindly meant, were in truth 
somewhat irksome. Two days after the visit above described, 
he sent his conceited pishkhidmat to enquire after my health, 
and to ask me whether I had need of anything, and when I 
intended to visit a certain waterfall near the Shir-Kuh, which 
he declared I must certainly see before quitting his territories. 
For the moment I escaped in polite ambiguities; but two days 
later the pishkhidmat again came with a request that, as Ramazan 
was close at hand, I would at once return with him to the 
Government House, as the Prince wished to see me ere the fast, 
with the derangement of ordinary business consequent on it, 
began. I had no resource but to comply, and after giving the 
pishkbidmat tea, which he drank critically, | again set out with 
him, the Dastur, and the inevitable farrdshes, for the Prince’s 
residence. On leaving the palace shortly before sunset, the 
Dastuir mysteriously asked me whether, if I were in no particular 
hurry to get home, he might instruct the farrdshes to take a more 
devious route through the bazaars. I consented, without at first 
being able to divine his object, which was no doubt to show the 
Musulmans of Yezd that I, the Firangi, was held in honour by 
the Prince, and that he, the fire-priest, was on the most friendly 
and intimate terms with me. 

After this visit I enjoyed a period of repose, for which, as 
I imagine, I was indebted to the fast of Ramazan. The Zoro- 


27-2 


420 YEZD 


astrians, of course, like myself, were unaffected by this, and so 
was my servant Haji Safar, who came to me on the eve of the 
fast to know what his duty in the matter might be. He ex- 
plained that travellers were exempt from the obligation of 
fasting, provided they made good the omission at some future 
date; but that if I could promise to remain at Yezd for ten clear 
days of Ramazan, he could fast for those ten days, postponing 
the remainder of his fast till some mote convenient time. It 
was of no use, he added, to begin fasting unless he could reckon 
on ten consecutive days, a shorter period than this not entering 
into computation. I declined to bind myself by any such pro- 
mise (feeling pretty sure that Haji Safar would not be sorry for 
an excuse to postpone the period of privation till the season 
of short days), and so, though it was not till Ramazan 13th that 
I actually quitted Yezd, he continued to pursue the ordinary 
tenor of his life. 

Amongst the minor annoyances which served to remind me 
that even Yezd was not without its drawbacks, were the periodical 
appearances in my room of scorpions and tarantulas, both of 
which abound in the dry, sandy soil of this part of Persia. Of 
these noxious animals, the latter were to me the mote repulsive, 
from the horrible nimbleness of their movements, the hideous 
half-transparent grayness of their bodies, and the hairiness of 
their legs and venomous mandibles. I had seen one or two in the 
catavansaray where I first alighted, but, on removing to the clean 
and tidy little house in Ardashir’s garden, hoped that I had done 
with them. I was soon undeceived, for as I sat at supper the day 
after my atrival, I saw to my disgust a very large one of singu- 
larly aggressive appearance sitting on the wall about three feet 
above the floor. ] approached it with a slipper, intending to slay 
it, but it appeared to divine my intentions, rushed up the wall 
and half across the ceiling with incredible speed, dropped at my 
feet, and made straight for the window, crossing in its course 
the pyramid of sweetmeats sent to me by the Prince, over which 


YEZD 421 


its horny legs rattled with a loathsome clearness which almost 
turned me sick. This habit of dropping from the ceiling is one of 
the tarantula’s many unpleasant characteristics, and the Persians 
(who call it rotey/ or Rhdyé-gaz) believe that it can only bite while 
descending. Its bite is generally said to be hardly less serious 
than that of the scorpion, but Ardashir assured me that people 
were seldom bitten by it, and that he had never known its wound 
prove fatal. The Yezdis, at all events, regarded its presence 
with much more equanimity than I did, and the Ka/intar, or 
mayor, of the Zoroastrians displayed no alarm when a large 
specimen was observed sitting on the ceiling almost exactly 
over his head. The Prince-Governor manifested somewhat more 
discust when a tarantula made its appearance in his reception- 
toom one evening when I had gone to visit him; but then he 
was not a Yezdi. 

As regards scorpions, I killed a small whitish one in my room 
shortly after I had missed my first tarantula. A day or two 
afterwards old Jamshid the gardener brought me up another 
which he had just killed in the garden, and seized the occasion 
to give me a sort of lecture on noxious insects. The black wood- 
louse-like animal which I had slain at Chah-Begi he declared to 
have been a “‘s#smdr” (though this word is generally supposed 
to mean a lizard). Having discussed this, he touched briefly on 
the t4ér-mdr (eatwig?), sad-pd (centipede), and hazdr-pd (milli- 
pede), concluding with the interesting statement that in every 
ant-hill of the large black ants two large black scorpions live. I 
suggested that we should dig up an ant-hill and see if it were so, 
but he declined to be a party to any such undertaking, seeming 
to consider that such a procedure would be in very indifferent 
taste. “‘As long as the scorpions stay inside,” said he, “we have 
no tight to molest them, and to do so ts to incur ill-luck.’”’ So 
my curiosity remained unsatisfied. 

Old Jamshid was very particular in the observance of his 
religious duties, and I constantly heard him muttering his 


A422 YEZD 


prayers under my window in that peculiar droning tone which 
so impressed the Arabs that they invented a special word for it. 
Ardashir, who had seen the world and imbibed latitudinarian 
ideas, affected to regard this performance with a good-natured 
contempt, which he extended to many of the Dastur’s cherished 
convictions. One day, for instance, mention was made of ghd/s 
and other supernatural beings. “‘Tush,” said Ardashir, “there 
ate no such things.” “No such things!” exclaimed the Dastur, 
““why I have seen one myself.” “No, no,” rejoined Ardashir, 
“you saw a man or a mule or some other animal in the 
gloaming, and, deceived by the half-light, the solitude, or your 
own fears, supposed it to be a ghw/.”” Here I interposed, begging 
the Dastur to narrate his experience, which he readily consented 
to do. 

“T was tiding back from Taft to the city one evening,” said 
he, “when, nearly opposite our dakhmé, I lost my way. As I was 
casting about to discover the path, I suddenly saw a light before 
me on the right. I thought it must come from the village of 
Kasim-abad, and was preparing to make for it, when it suddenly 
shifted to my left hand and began to approach me. It drew quite 
near; and then I saw a creature like a wild pig, in front of which 
flitted a light like a large lantern. I was horribly frightened, but 
I repeated a prayer out of the Desdtir, whereupon the thing 
vanished. It soon reappeared, however, this time in the form of 
a mule, preceded by a man bearing a lantern, and thus addressed 
me: ‘Ey ddami-xdd! Injd ché mi-kuni?’? ((O son of man! What 
dost thou here?’) I replied that I had lost my way. Thereupon 
it pointed out a path, which, as it assured me, would lead me to 
the city. I followed this path for some distance, but it only led 
me farther out of my way, until at last I reached a village where 
I found some of our own people. These set me in the right road, 
and would have borne me company to the city, but I would not 
suffer them to do so, believing that I should have no further 
difficulty. On teaching a bridge hard by the city, I again saw 


YEZD 423 


the creature waiting for me by the roadside: it again strove to 
mislead me, but this time I paid no heed to it, and, pushing 
past it, reached my house in safety. Its object was to lead me 
into some desolate spot and there destroy me, after the manner 
of ghils. After this experience you will understand that I am 
firmly convinced of the existence of these creatures.” 

I was not so much troubled at Yezd by applications for 
medical advice and treatment as I had feared, partly because, 
after my experiences at Dihbid and G6d-1-Shirdan, I had for- 
bidden Haji Safar and Baba Khan to say a word about my 
having any medical knowledge, and partly because Ardashir 
would not suffer strangers of whom he knew nothing to come 
to his garden to see me. Once, however, when I was sitting 
- talking to Bahman and Iran in Ardashit’s office (situated on the 
ground floor of one of the chief caravansarays in the city), a 
crowd of people assembled outside to stare at me, from which 
a Seyyid presently disengaged himself, and asked me whether 
I would cure him of an enlarged spleen. I asked him how he 
knew that it was his spleen that was affected. He replied that 
the Persian doctors had told him so. “‘What the Persian doctors 
can diagnose, can they not treat?” I enquired. “Yes,” he replied, 
“they can; but they prescribe only two remedies, shardb and 
vahrdb*, of which one is unlawful and the other disgusting.” I 
finally told him that I could not undertake to treat him without 
first examining him, and that if he wished this he must come and 
see me in Ardashir’s garden. He never came, however; or, if he 
did, he was not admitted. 

The Zoroastrians are, as a tule, good gardeners, and have 
some skill in the use of simples. From Ardashir and his gar- 
dener, Jamshid, I learned the names and supposed properties 
of many plants which grew in the garden. Unfortunately the 
little botanical knowledge I ever possessed had grown so rusty 
by long disuse that often I was unable to supply the English 


1 Wine and urine. 


A424 YEZD 


name, or even to refer the plant to its proper order. However, 
I give the following list as a contribution towards a better 
knowledge of the Persian nomenclature. Pddana or pudanak; 
kdsni, accounted “‘cool”? and good for the liver; from it is pre- 
pated a spirit called ‘arak-i-kdsni; turb (radish); gdv-gash (aghting- 
cock); dftdb-garddn, or gul-i-khurshid (sunflower); bid-anjir, ot 
bid-angir (castor-oil plant) ; rdxddné (fennel), said to be ananalgesic; 
yunjé (clover); taré, a small plant resembling garlic and with a 
similar smell, said to be good for hemorrhoids; shdh-taré, ac- 
counted “hot and moist”’; a decoction of it, taken in the morning 
on an empty stomach, is said to be good for indigestion and 
disorders of the stomach; shavij, a “hot” umbelliferous plant 
with a yellow blossom; gashnij, a “cold” umbelliferous plant 
with a white flower; chughandar (beetroot); gul-i-khatmi (holly- - 
hock); kalam (cabbage), called by the guebres in their dialect 
kumnt; isfindj (spinach?); kab (lettuce); kadwjé (rageed-robin or 
campion); karanfil (passion-flower). 

I have alluded to the dialect spoken amongst themselves by 
the Zoroastrians of Persia, and by them called “‘ Dar?” This 
term has been objected to by M. Clément Huart, who has 
published in the Journal Asiatique several valuable papers on 
certain Persian dialects, which he classes together under the 
name of ‘‘Pehlevi-Musulman,” and regards as the descendants 
of the ancient Median language preserved to us in the Avesta. 
The chief ground of his objection is that the description of the 
Dari dialect given in the prolegomena of certain standard Persian 
dictionaries does not at all agree with the so-called Dari spoken 
by the guebres of Yezd and Kirman. Personally, I confess that 
I attach but little importance to the evidence of the Persian lexico- 
graphers in this matter, seeing that it is the rarest thing for an 
educated Persian to take any interest in local dialects, or even to 
recognise their philological importance; and I shall therefore 
continue provisionally to call the dialect in question by the name 
given to it by those who speak it. That it is closely allied to the 


YEZD 425 


Kohrudi, Kashani, Sivandi, Luri, and other dialects spoken in 
remote and isolated districts of Persia, and generically termed 
by the Persians “‘ Furs-i-kadim” (“Old Persian”), is, however, 
not to be doubted. 

This Dari dialect is only used by the guebres amongst them- 
selves, and all of them, so far as I know, speak Persian as well. 
When they speak their own dialect, even a Yezdi Musulman 
cannot understand what they are saying, or can only understand 
it very imperfectly. It is for this reason that the Zoroastrians 
cherish their Dari, and are somewhat unwilling to teach it to 
a stranger. I once remarked to Ardashir what a pity it was that 
they did not commit it to writing. He replied that there had at 
one time been some talk of translating the Guw/istdn into Dari, 
but that they had decided that it was inexpedient to facilitate 
the acquisition of their idiom to non-Zoroastrians. To me they 
were as a tule ready enough to impart information about it; 
though when I tried to get old Jamshid the gardener to tell me 
more about it, he excused himself, saying that a knowledge of it 
could be of no possible use to me. 

The following is a list of the Dari words and phrases which 
I collected at Yezd:— 

Hamushtudwun, to arise (shortened in speaking to hamushtun); imperative, 
hamusht; present tense (1 sing.) hamushtude’ ot hamushtudem; (2 sing.) 
hamushtudt, (3 sing.) hamushtud, (1 plur.) hamushtudim, (2 plu.) hamushtudid, 
(3 plur.) hamushtu-dand. 

Wotwun, to say; imperative, ve-va; past tense, dm-vut, ud-vut or t’ad-vut, 
osh-vut ot inoshvut, (plar.) md-vut or md-md-vut, do-vut, sho-vut. Don’t 
talk = vuj khé ma-kw (khe = khud, self; ma-kw = makun, do not do or 
make). 

Graftun, to take; ashnuftan, to hear; didwun, to see; Rushtwun, to strike. 

Venodwun, to throw. “Turn (lit. throw) the water into that channel,” 
“Wow de 0 ju ve-ven” (wow = water; de = to, into; d = that). 

Nashte’ ot ndshtem, I sat; (2 sing.) ndsht¢; (3 sing.) ndsht; (1 plur.) md- 
ndshtun. Imperative (2 sing.) dntk; (2 plur.) dnigit. 

Ve-shu, 0; ko’isht, whither goest thou? Hamashtin va-shim, let us arise and 
20; md ve-shim, let us go. Ve-shu gau, go down; shumd gav-shit, do you go 
down. Me-wi ve-she, I want to go. 

Bi-y#, come; muné 4, come here; mé byd#’/, may I come? 


426 YEZD 


Owmuda ve-bi, be ready. 

Wow, water. Dumined, ‘atak, spirit (so called, they say, because it distils 
“from the end of the pipe,” dum-i-ney). Kilowel, wine (said to be onoma- 
topeeic, from the noise it makes as it is poured out of the bottle). Waks- 
kilowel davarta, the time for wine has passed. 

Gaff, talk; gaff zadan, to talk. Bawz,a bee. Raxhgdrat nydk, good day. 

Those who desire fuller information about this interesting 
dialect, which well deserves a more careful and systematic study 
than it has yet received, may consult General Houtum-Schindlet’s 
admirable paper on the Zoroastrians of Persia (Die Parsen in 
Persien, ihre Sprache, etc.) in vol. xxxvi of the Zeztschrift der Deut- 
schen Morgenlindischen Gesellschaft (pp. 54-88); Ferdinand Justt’s 
atticle in vol. xxxv of the same periodical (pp. 327-414); Beré- 
sine’s Dialectes Persanes (Kazan, 1853); and the articles of M. 
Huart in series viii of the Journal Asiatique (vol. vi, p. 502; 
vol. xi, p. 298; vol. xiv, p. 534). 

In this connection I may also cite a verse written in the 
Kashani dialect by a Kashi who wished to “‘take off”’ ! the speech 
of his fellow-townsmen. 

“*Pas-khiin u pish-khin ki pur bafr bid 

Shubbe na-darad ki zameystiun risid. 

Kisé-i-sabbun bi-tih-i-salt nih; 

Bigh zadand; nawbat-i-hammun visid.” 

“Now that the front-yard and back-yard are full of snow, 

There is no doubt that winter has come. 
Put the soap-bag in the bottom of the basket (?); 
They ate blowing the horn; the time for the bath has come.” 


While I am on the subject of these linguistic curiosities, I 
may as well mention a method of secret communication some- 
times employed in Persia, the nature and applications of which 
wete explained to me by my Erivani friend a few days before 
his departure for Mashhad. Such of my teaders as have studied 
Arabic, Persian, Turkish, or Hindustani will know that besides 


I Lhe slang expression for “to take a person off” (in the sense of to make 
fun of or mimic him) is “/#-yi kik-i-kasi raftan.” Kuk kardan means to wind 
up a watch; applied to a person it means to rile, put in a passion. “I riled 
him and he got in a wax” is in Persian slang, “Adk-ash kardam u bi-dsmdn 
raft,” “I wound him up, and he went up to the sky.” 


YEZD 427 


the ordinary arrangement of the letters of the Arabic alphabet 
there is another arrangement called the “‘abjad”’ (from the four 
letters alif, bd, jim, ddl which begin it) representing a much older 
otder. The order of the letters in the abjad is expressed by the 
following series of meaningless words, consisting of groups of 
three or four letters each supplied with vowel-points to render 
them pronounceable:—abjad, hawaz, hott, kalaman, sa‘fas, Rara- 
shat, thakbadh (sakhadh) dadhagha (zazagha). In this order each 
has a numerical value; aif =1, bd = 2, jim = 3, ddl = 4, and so 
on up to yd = 10; then come the other tens, kdf = 20, i = 30, 
and so on up to kdf =100; then the other hundreds up to 
gheyn = 1000. The manner in which, by means of this abjad, 
words and sentences may be made to express dates is familiar 
to all students of these languages, and I will therefore only give 
as a specimen, for the benefit of the general reader, the rather 
ingenious chronogram for the death of the poet Jami, premising 
that he was a native of the province of Khurasan; that ““smoke” 
ot “smoke of the heart” is a poetical term for sighs; and that 
to “come up from” in the case of a number means to be sub- 
tracted from. 

This, then, is the chronogram: “Dad ay Khurdsdn bar dmad,” 
“Smoke (sighs) arose from Khurdasan,” or “did (dal = 4, vdv = 6, 
ddl = 4; total 14) came up (Ze. was subtracted) from Khurasan”’ 
(khd = 600, rd = 200, alif =1, sin = 60, alif =1, niin = 50; total 
912). Taking 14 from 912 we get the date of Jami’s death, A.H. 
898 (= A.D. 1492). 

The method of secret communication above alluded to con- 
sists in indicating first the word of the abjad in which the letter 
to be spelt out occurs, then its position in that word. In com- 
municating by raps, a double rap knocks off each word of the 
abjad, while on reaching the word in which the desired letter 
occuts its position in that word is indicated by the requisite 
number of single raps. An instance will make this clearer. It is 
desired to ask, “Ndm-i-té chist?” (“What is thy name?’’): the 


428 YEZD 


letters which spell out this message are—wwn, alif, mim, td, vdv, 
jim (for chim), yd, sin, td. Nun is in the fourth word of the abjad, 
and is the fourth letter in that word (ka/aman). It is therefore 
indicated by three double raps (removing or knocking off the 
three first words, abjad, hawaz, bot/, and thus bringing us to the 
next word, kalaman), followed by four single raps (showing 
that it is the fourth letter in this word). The remaining letters 
ate expressed in similar fashion, so that if we represent double 
taps by dashes and single raps by dots, the whole message will 


run as follows: —— —.... (wun); . (aif); —— —... (wim); 
aiid aa .... (4d) —.. (vm); ... (chim ot jim); ——... 
(ya); —— — — . (sv); — — — — — Princes (4c): 


Messages can be similarly communicated by a person smoking 
the kalydn or watet-pipe to his accomplice or partner, without 
the knowledge of the uninitiated. In this case a long pull at the 
pipe is substituted for the double rap, and a short pull for the 
single rap. Pulling the moustache, or stroking the neck, face, 
or collar (right side for words, left side for letters), is also resorted 
to to convert the system from an auditory into a visual one. It 
is expressed in writing in a similar fashion, each letter being 
represented by an upright stroke, with ascending branches on 
the right for the words and on the left for the letters. This writing 
is called, from the appearance of the letters, khaft-i-sarvi (“ cyptess- 
writing”) or khatt-i-shajari (“tree-writing”’’). In this character 
(written, in the usual way, from right to left) the sentence which 
we took above (“‘ndm-i-ti chist?”) will stand as follows:— 


Y VN So Noh Vd eos 


The mention of enigmatical writings reminds me of a matter 
which I omitted to speak of in its proper place—I mean the 
Pahlavi and Zend manuscripts preserved in the fire-temples of 
Yezd. Although I knew that Yezd had long since been ransacked 
for such treasures, and that, even should any old manuscripts 
remain, it would be impossible to do more than examine them 


YEZD 429 


(a task which I, who knew no Pahlavi and only the metest rudi- 
ments of Zend, was but little qualified to undertake), I naturally 
did not omit to make enquiries on the subject of the Dasttr 
and Ardashir. As I expected, most of the manuscripts (especially 
the older and mote valuable ones) had been sent to the Parsees 
of Bombay, so as to be safe from the outbursts of Muham- 
madan fanaticism to which the Zoroastrians of Yezd are always 
liable; but in one of the fire-temples I was shown two manu- 
scripts of the sacred books, the older of which was, by the kind- 
ness of the Dastur, lent to me during the remainder of my stay 
at Yezd, so that I was enabled to examine it thoroughly. 

This manuscript, a large volume of 294 leaves, contained, 
so far as I could make out, the whole of the Vendidad, with 
interspersed Pahlavi translation and commentary written in red, 
the headings of the chapters being also in red, and the Avesta 
text in black. On f. 158 was inscribed a Persian poem of fifty- 
nine couplets, wherein the transcriber, Bahram, the son of Mar- 
zaban, the son of Feriduin, the son of Bahram, details the 
circumstances of his life and the considerations which led him 
to undertake the transcription of the sacred volume. From this 
it appeared that when the aforesaid Bahram was thirteen years 
of age, his father, Marzaban-i-Feridun, left his country (pre- 
sumably Yezd), and, at the command of ‘the reigning king, 
settled in Kazvin. After a while he went to Khurdasan, and 
thence to Kirman, where he died at the age of fifty-seven. The 
death of his father turned Bahram’s thoughts to his religion, 
which he began to study diligently with all such as could teach 
him anything about it. At the age of sixteen he seems to have 
transcribed the Yashts; and at the age of twenty he commenced 
the transcription of the Vendidad, of which he completed the 
first half (as stated in the verses cited on p. 413, supra), on 
the 14th day of the month of Amurdad, a.y. 977. On the page 
facing that whereon this poem is written are inscribed the dates 
of the deaths of a number of Zoroastrians (belonging, probably, 


430 YEZD 


to the family of the transcriber), beginning with Bahram’s 
father Marzaban-i-Feridin, who died on the day of Varahram 
(Bahram), in the month of Farvardin, a.y. 970. The last date is 
A.y. 1069. The writing of the manuscript is large, clear, and 
legible, and it bears throughout the signs of careful work. One 
side of f. 29 is occupied by a diagram indicating, I believe, the 
successive positions in which the officiating priest or mubad 
must stand in relation to the fire-altar while performing some 
of the ceremonies connected with the hdma-sacrifice. This 
sacred plant (the héma, or him, as it is now called) is found in 
the mountains about Yezd, but I could not succeed in obtaining 
of even in seeing a specimen while I was there. After my return 
to Cambridge, however, the Dastur kindly sent me some of the 
seeds and stalks of it packed in a tin box. I gave some of the 
formet to the Cambridge Botanical Gardens. Unfortunately 
they did not grow up, but they were identified by Mr Lynch, 
the curator, as a species of Ephedra. 

Near the end of the volume I found the following short 
prayer in Persian: “Shikast u xad bad Abriman-i-durvand-i-kaj, 
avd hamd divan u drujdn u jdduvan,” “‘Deteated and smitten be 
Ahriman the outcast, the froward, with all the demons and fiends 
and warlocks.” Some of the original leaves of the manuscript 
had been lost, and replaced by new ones written in a bad hand 
on common white paper. 

It is time, however, to leave the Zoroastrians, and to say 
something of the Babis of Yezd, with whom also I passed many 
pleasant and profitable hours. But this chapter has already 
grown so long that what I have to say on this and some other 
matters had better form the substance of another. 








CHAP LER. X1V 


YEZD (continued) 


“Chand, chand ax bikmat-t-Y tindniydn 
Hikmat-i-[mdniydn-rd ham bi-khwdn!” 
“How long, how long of the wisdom of the Greeks? 
Study also the wisdom of the people of faith!” 
“ An Gheyb-i-mumtani‘, ki hamt-guft ‘Lan tard!” 
nak, tardné-gh bi-jiban ashikdr shud. 
Kashf-t-hijab kard: khuda-hd, bishdrati! 
Tnak, xuhir-i-a°xam-t-Parvardigar shud!” 
“That unapproachable Unseen, which was wont to say, ‘Thou 
shalt not see Me,’ 
Lo, melodious with song, hath appeared in the world! 
It hath lifted the veil: good tidings, O gods! 
Lo, the Supreme Theophany hath come!” 


N the last chapter I have spoken chiefly of the Zoroastrians ; 

in this I propose to say something concerning my dealings 
with the Babis of Yezd, of whom also I saw a good deal. And 
first of all a few words are necessary as te the relations sub- 
sisting between the votaries of these two religions, the oldest 
and the newest which Persia has produced. Their relations to 
one another are of a much mote friendly character than are the 
relations of either of them towards the Muhammadans, and this 
for several reasons. Both of them are liable to persecution at 
the hands of the Muhammadans, and so have a certain fellow- 
feeling and sympathy. Both of them are more tolerant towards 
such as ate not of their own faith than the Muhammadans, the 
Zotoasttians, as already said, regarding “‘the virtuous of the 
seven climes” as their friends, and the Babis being commanded 
by Beha to “associate with men of all religions with spirituality 


432 NGA B 


and sweet savour,” and to regard no man as unclean by reason 
of his faith. Moreover the Babis recognise Zoroaster as a 
prophet, though without much enthusiasm, and are at some 
pains to conciliate and win over his followers to their way of 
thinking, as instanced by the epistles addressed by Beha from 
Acte to cettain of their number; while some few at least of 
the Zoroastrians are not indisposed to recognise in Beha theit 
expected deliverer, Shah Bahram, who, as Dastir Tit-andaz 
informed me, must appear soon if they were to be rescued from 
their abasement, and “the Good Religion” re-established. The 
Dastur himself, indeed, would not admit that Beha could be 
this promised saviour, who, he said, must come before the next 
Nawriz if he were to come at all; but others of his co-religionists 
were less confident on this point, and in Kirman I met at least 
one who was, so far as I could ascertain, actually a Babi. The 
marked predilection towards the Babis displayed by Manakyji, 
the late Zoroastrian agent at Teheran, at whose instigation the 
Tarikh-i- Jadid, or ““New History” of the Bab’s “‘ Manifestation,” 
was written, must also have re-acted powerfully on his Zoro- 
astrian brethren !. 

I may here mention a very absurd fiction, which I have more 
than once heard the Zoroastrians maintain in the presence of 
. Musulmans or Babis, namely, that Zoroaster was identical with 
Abraham. The chief argument whereby they seek to establish 
this thesis is as follows: “You recognise five ‘nabi-i-mursal’” 
(prophets sent with new revealed scriptures, as opposed to 
prophets merely sent to warn and preach repentance, who ate 
called ‘‘nabi-i-mundlir”), say they, “to wit, Abraham with the 


t I have already remarked on the hatred with which the Zoroastrians 
regatd the Arabs, and the fact that the Babi movement was entirely Persian 
in origin no doubt inclines them to look favourably on it. One of them said 
as much to me; the Semitic peoples, he added, were comparable to ravening 
beasts of prey, and the Aryan races to the peaceful and productive animals. 
An unmodified Semitic religion, he maintained, could never be really accept- 
able to Aryans. 


¥YEZD 433 


Subuf ‘Leaves,’ ‘Tracts,’ or ‘Epistles’), Moses with the Tawrdt 
(Pentateuch), David with the Mazdmir (Psalms), Jesus with the 
Injil (Gospel), and Muhammad with the Kur’dn; and you believe 
that the book of each of these five, and a remnant of his people, 
shall continue in the world so long as it lasts. Now of each of 
the last four the book and the people exist to our day, but where 
is the Sujuf of Abraham, and where his followers? Does it not 
seem probable to you that the Swpuf is our Avesta, that Abraham 
is but another name for Zoroaster, and that we are his people?”’ 
As further proof of this contention, Ardashir declared that 
mention was made of Barahim, who was evidently the same as 
Ibrahim (Abraham), in the Shdb-ndmé; and I think he strove to 
connect this word with Brahman and Bahram, for he was capable 
of much in the way of etymology and comparative philology. 
I do not suppose that in their hearts many of the Zoroastrians 
really believe this nonsense, but it has always been a great object 
with them to get themselves included amongst the ah/u’Lkitab, 
or people to whom a revealed book recognised by the Muham- 
madans has been vouchsafed, inasmuch as these enjoy many 
privileges denied to the pagan and idolater. 

My first introduction to the Babis of Yezd I have already 
described. The morning after I had taken up my quarters in 
Ardashir’s garden I received a message from Haji Seyyid M—— 
about 6 a.m., inviting me to take my early tea in a garden of his 
situated close at hand. Thither I at once repaired, and, after a 
while, found myself alone with the Babi poet ‘Andalib. 

“How was it,” he began, “that the Jews, although in ex- 
pectation of their Messiah, failed to recognise him in the Lord 
Jesus?” 

“Because,” I answered, “they looked only at the letter and 
not the spirit of their books, and had formed a false conception 
of the Messiah and his advent.” — | 

“May not you Christians have done the same,” he continued, 
“with regard to Him whose advent you expect, the promised 


B 28 


434 YEZD 


‘Comforter’? May He not have come, while you continue heed- 
less? Within a few miles of Acre is a monastery of Carmelite 
monks, who have taken up their abode there to await the return 
of Christ, because their books tell them that He will return 
there. He /as returned there, almost at their very door, yet they 
recognise Him not, but continue gazing up to heaven, whence, 
as they vainly suppose, He will descend.” 

“Consider the parable of the Lord of the vineyard,” he 
resumed after a while, “which is contained in your gospel. 
First, He sent servants to demand his rights from those wicked 
men to whom the vineyard was let; these were the prophets 
before Christ. Then He sent His own Son, whom they killed; 
this was Christ Himself, as you yourselves admit. And after that 
what shall the Lord of the vineyard do? ‘He wi// come and destroy 
the husbandmen, and will give the vineyard unto othets.’” ! 

“Do you then regard Beha as the Lord of the vineyard, that 
is to say, as God Himself?” I enquired in astonishment. 

“What say your own books?” he replied. ““Who is He who 
shall come after the Son?” 

“Well, but what then say you of Muhammad?” I demanded, 
“for if you accept this parable and interpret it thus there is no 
place left for him, since he comes after the Son and before the 
Lord of the vineyard.” 

“He was a messenger sent to announce the advent of the Lord 
of the vineyard,” replied ‘Andalib. 

“Then,” said I, ‘“he was less than the Son.” 

“Yes,” answered ‘Andalib, “he was.” He then spoke of 
other matters; of the devotion of the youth Badi‘, who came 
on foot from Acre to Teheran, there to meet a cruel death, 
with Beha’s letter to Nasiru’d-Din Shah; of the martyrs of 
Isfahan, and the miserable end of their persecutors, Sheykh 
Bakir and the Ima4m-Jum‘a; of the downfall of Napoleon III, 
foretold by Beha in the epistle addressed to the French Emperor 


1 Mark xii, 9. 


YEZD 435 


when he was at the zenith of his power, and read by himself four 
yeats before the accomplishment of the prediction. Concerning 
Badi‘ he remarked, “‘Even Christ prayed that, if possible, this 
cup might pass from Him, while this lad joyfully hastened with 
unhalting and unswerving feet over many a weary mile of desert 
and mountain, bearing his own death-warrant in his hand, to 
quaff the draught of martyrdom.” As we were leaving the garden 
he took me by the hand and besought me to go to Acre and see 
Beha for myself. “‘How noble a work might be yours,” he said, 
“if you could become assured of the truth of his claim, in 
spreading the good news through your country!” 

Next day I received a visit from a sarhang, or colonel, who 
filled at that time a rather responsible post at Yezd, whence he 
has since been transferred to another important town in the south 
of Persia. He too proved to be a Babi, and conversed very freely 
about the new Manifestation. “In accordance with the in- 
junction ‘address men according to the measure of their understanding,” 
said he, “it behoves every divine messenger to impart to his 
people only so much spiritual knowledge as they are capable of 
receiving; wherefore, as mankind advances in education, the old 
creeds necessarily lose their significance, and the old formule 
become obsolete. So, if a child were to ask what we meant by 
saying that knowledge was sweet, we might give it a sugat-plum 
and say, “It resembles this,’ so that the child, liking the sugar- 
plum, might desire knowledge; though, as a matter of fact, the 
two have nothing in common. To rough uncultivated men, such 
as the Arabs with whom Muhammad had to deal, the pleasures 
of Divine Love cannot be more clearly symbolised than as a 
material paradise of beautiful gardens and rivers of milk and 
wine and honey, where they shall be waited on by black-eyed 
maidens and fair boys. Now we have outgrown this coarse 
symbolism, and are fitted to receive a fuller measure of spiritual 
truth and wisdom from him who is the Fountain-head of wisdom 
and the wisest of all living men, Beha.” 


436 4 


Two days later I was invited by Haji Seyyid M——— to spend 
the day with him and his friends in one of his gardens situated 
outside the town, on the road to Taft. He kindly sent his servant 
with a horse to convey me thither, and I had lunch and tea there, 
returning home about sunset. There were a good many guests 
(all, so far as I could make out, being Babis), including ‘Andalib 
and a very vivacious little merchant on whom, in consideration 
of the very humorous manner in which he impersonated, for our 
amusement, the venal conduct of a certain eminent wu//d of Yezd 
on the judgment-seat, the title of ““Sheykh” was bestowed. The 
garden, with its roses, mulberry-trees, pomegranates in full 
blossom, syringas (wastarjan), cool marble tanks, and tiny 
streams, was like a dream of delight, and I have seldom spent 
a pleasanter day anywhere. I conversed chiefly with ‘Andalib, 
who tread me some of his own poems, and also wrote down for 
me one of the beautiful odes attributed to the Babi heroine and 
mattyr Kurratu’l-“Aynt. He talked a good deal about the 
identity of all the prophets, whom he regarded as successive 
Manifestations or Incarnations of the Divine Will or Universal 
Reason. 

“Tf that is so,” I urged, “how can you speak of one Manifesta- 
tion as more perfect than another, or one prophet as superior to 
another?” 

“From our human point of view,” he replied, “we are entitled 
to speak thus, although from the standpoint of the Absolute it 
is incorrect. It is the same sun which rises every day to warm 
and light us, and no one for a moment doubts this; yet we say 
that the sun is hotter in summer than in winter, or warmer to- 
day than yesterday, or in a different sign of the zodiac now from 
that which it occupied a month ago. Speaking relatively to our- 
selves this is perfectly true, but when we consider the sun apart 
from accidents of time, place, environment, and the like, we 


1 The text of this, with a translation into English verse, will be found at 
pp. 314-16 of vol. ii of my Traveller’s Narrative. 


YEZD 437 


petceive it to be ever one and the same, unchanged and 
unchangeable. So is it with the Sun of Truth, which rises 
from the horizon of the heart, and illuminates the Spiritual 
Firmament.”’ 

“Ts it not strange, then,” I asked, “that different prophets 
should advance different claims, one announcing himself as the 
‘Friend of God,’ another as the ‘Interlocutor of God,’ another as 
the ‘Apostle of God,’ another as the ‘Son of God,’ and another 
as God Himself?” 

“No,” he answered, “and I will strive to make it clearer by 
means of a parable. A certain king holding sway over a vast 
empire desired to discover with his own eyes the causes of dis- 
orders which prevailed in one of his provinces, so that he might 
take effectual measures to remedy them. He determined, there- 
fore, to go thither himself, and, laying aside his kingly state, to 
mix with the people on terms of intimacy. So he wrote a letter, 
declaring the bearer of it to be an officer of the king’s household, 
sealed it with the royal seal, and, thus provided, went in disguise 
to the province in question, where he announced that he was an 
oflicer sent by the king to enquire into the disorders prevailing 
amongst the people, in proof of which he produced the royal 
warrant which he had himself written. After a while, when order 
had been in some degree restored, and men were mote loyally 
disposed, he announced himself to be the king’s own minister, 
producing another royal warrant in proof of this. Last of all 
he threw off all disguise and said, ‘I am the king himself.’ Now, 
all the time he was really the king, though men knew him not; 
yet was his state and majesty at first not as it was at last. So is it 
with the Divine Will or Universal Reason, which, becoming 
manifest from time to time for our guidance, declares Itself now 
as the Apostle of God, now as the Son of God, and at last as God 
Himself. We are not asked to acknowledge a higher status than 
It sees fit to claim at any particular time, but the royal signet is 
the sufficient proof of any claim which It may advance, including 


438 YEZD 
that of the Supreme Majesty itself. But, as Mawlana Jalalu’d-Din 


Rumi saysi— <n y4p4 bayad ki hdshad shab-sbinds, 
Td shindsad Shab-rd dar har libas.’ 
“It needs an eye which is king-discerning 
To recognise the King in whatever garb.’” 





Later on I asked Haji Seyyid M what he considered to 
be the difference between the Sufi saint who had attained to 
the “Station of Annihilation in God,” wherein, like Manstr-i- 
Hallaj, he could cry, “I am the truth,” and the prophet. “‘What, 
in short,”’ I concluded, “‘is the difference between the ‘ I am God’ 
of Manstr, and the ‘I am God’ of Beha? For, as your own pto- 
vetb has it, ‘There is no colour beyond black.’”’ 

“The difference,” said he, “‘is as the difference between our 
sitting here and saying, ‘See, this is a rose-garden,’ and one 
saying, ‘I am such-and-such a rose in that garden.’ The one 
reaches a point where, losing sight and cognisance of self, he 
wanders at will through the World of Divinity ((Alam-i-Labit); 
the other is the throne on which God sits, as He Himself saith, 
“He set Himself upon the Throne’ (¢s/awd ‘ala’-‘arsh)1, One is 
a perfect reflection of the sun cast in a pure clear mirror; the other 
is the sun itself.” 

A few days later, after the month of Ramazan had begun, I 
paid another visit to Haji Seyyid M——~’s house, where three of 
my Zoroastrian friends presently joined me. ‘Andalib, as usual, 
was the chief spokesman, and, amongst other things, laid down 
the dogma that faith and unbelief were the root or essence of the 
whole matter, and good or bad actions only branches or sub- 
sidiaties. This position I attacked with some warmth. 

“Suppose a Jew and a Christian,” said he, “‘the former 
merciful, charitable, benevolent, humane, pious, but rejecting 
and denying Christ; the latter cruel, selfish, vindictive, but 
accepting and reverencing Him. Of these two, which do you 
regard as the better man?” 


1 Kur’an vii, 52; x, 3 etc. 


YEZD 439 


“Without doubt the Jew,” I answered. 

“God forbid!” replied he. “Without doubt the Christian. 
God is merciful and forgiving, and can pardon sin.” 

“Can He not then pardon unbelief?” I demanded. 

“No,” he answered, “‘from those who do not believe is taken 
the spirit which once they had, to which the present wretched- 
ness and abasement of the Jews bears witness.” 

As it did not appear to me that the nations professing the 
Christian religion had suffered much abasement on account of 
their rejection of Muhammad, I said, thinking to get the better 
of the argument, ““Do you consider that every people which 
rejects a new Manifestation must be similarly abased?” 

He did not fall into my trap, however. ‘‘No,” he answered, 
“not unless they have been guilty of some special act of hostility 
or cruelty towards the bearer of the new gospel.” 

“What, then,” I demanded, “of the Muhammadans? Can 
one conceive of greater hostility or cruelty than they showed 
towards the Bab and those who followed him? Shall they too 
be abased?”’ 

“Yea, verily,” he answered, ‘‘and grievous shall be their 
abasement! Look at these poor guebres” (pointing to my 
Zoroastrian friends), ““how miserable is their condition! And 
why? Because of the sin of Khusraw Parviz, who tore up the 
letter which the Apostle of God sent to him, inviting him to 
embrace Islam. Yet had he some excuse; for he was a great 
king, belonging to a mighty dynasty which had ruled for many 
generations; while the letter was from an unknown member 
of a despised and subject race, and was, moreover, curt and 
unceremonious in the extreme, beginning, ‘This is a letter from 
Muhammad, the Apostle of God, to Khusraw Parviz. What shall 
we say of the king who not only tore up the letter, but slew with 
the most cruel torments the messenger of one greater than 
Muhammad, the letter being, moreover, written in the most 
courteous and conciliatory tone? But the Christians never acted 


440 YEZD 


thus towards Muhammad, and some, such as the Abyssinian 
Najashi, did all in their power to succour and protect those 
who, for their belief in him, had become wanderers and 
ExUes.g 

I tried to ascertain ‘Andalib’s beliefs as to the future life, a 
subject on which I have always found the Babis singularly 
reticent, and he told me that, according to their belief, the body, 
the vegetable soul, and the animal soul—all the lower prin- 
ciples, in fact—underwent disintegration and redistribution, 
while the “luminous spirit” (r#)-i-nirdni) survived to receive 
rewards or punishments, whereof the nature was untevealed 
and unknown. He then turned upon the Zoroastrians and up- 
braided them for their indifference in matters of religion. “For 
all these years,” he concluded, “you have been seeing and hearing 
of Jews, Christians, and Muhammadans: have you ever taken 
the trouble to ascertain the nature of their beliefs, or of the proofs 
and arguments by which they support them? If for a single 
week you had given half the attention which you devote to your 
worldly business to a consideration of these matters, you would, 
in all probability, have attained to certainty. What fault can be 
greater than this indifference and neglect?” 

A few days after this I returned the Sarhang’s visit. He received 
me vety kindly in his house, situated near the mosque of Mir 
Chakmakh, and, though it was Ramaz4n, gave me tea, and 
himself drank a little hot water. The conversation at once turned 
on teligion. He began by discussing the martyrdom of Im4m 
Huseyn, “the Chief of Martyrs,” and of ‘Abb4as, ‘Ali Akbar, 
and the rest of his relatives and companions, at Kerbel4, declaring 
that had it not been for the wrongs suffered by these, Islam would 
never have gained one-tenth of the strength it actually possesses. 
From this topic he passed to the Babi insurrection, headed by 
Aka Seyyid Yahy4 of Darab, which was put down with great 
severity in the summer of 1850. 

“Two of my telatives were in the army of the malignants,” 


YEZD 4AI 


he began, “so I know a good deal about what took place, and 
more especially how God punished them for their wickedness. 
When orders came from Teheran to Shiraz to put down the 
insurrection, my maternal grandfather, the Shujd‘u’/-Mulk, te- 
ceived instructions to march against the Babis of Niriz. He was 
somewhat unwilling to go, and consulted two of the clergy, 
who reassured him, telling him that it was a jzhdd, or holy war, 
and that to take part in it would ensure him a great reward 
in the future life. So he went, and what was done was done. 
The malignants, after they had slain 750 men of the Babis, took 
the women and children, stripped them nearly naked, mounted 
them on camels, mules, and asses, and led them forth through 
an avenue of heads severed from those who had been their 
husbands, brothers, fathers, and sons, towards Shiraz. When 
they arrived there they were lodged in a ruined caravansaray 
just outside the Isfahan gate, opposite to an imdmzddé, near to 
which the soldiers encamped under some ttees. There, exposed 
to all manner of hardships, insults, and persecutions, they were 
kept for a long while, during which many of them died. And now 
heat how God took vengeance on some of those who were 
prominent as persecutots of his saints. 

“My grandfather, the Shujd‘w+Mulk, when stricken down 
by his last illness, was dumb till the day of his death. Just 
at the end, those who stood round him saw his lips move, and, 
stooping down to hear what he was whispering, heard him 
repeat the word ‘Babi’ three times. Immediately afterwards he 
fell back dead. 

“My great-uncle, Mirza Na‘im, who also took part in the 
suppression of the Niriz rising, fell into disgrace with the 
Government, and was twice heavily mulcted—t10,000 timdns 
the first time, 15,000 /#mdns the second. His punishment did 
not stop here: he was made to stand bareheaded in the sun, with 
sytup smeared over his face to attract the flies; his feet were 
crushed in the Kajar boot; and his hands submitted to the e/-chek, 


442 ME ZD 


that is to say, pieces of wood were inserted between his fingers, 
round which whip-cord was tightly bound, and on the whip- 
cord cold water was poured to make it contract. Nor were these 
the wotst ot most degrading torments to which he was sub- 
jected 1. 

“T will tell you another instance of Divine Vengeance. There 
was in Shiraz a certain Sheykh Huseyn, who bore the honorific 
title of Nadzimu’/-“Ulamd, but who was generally known, by reason 
of his injustice, as ‘Zdlim’ (‘Tyrant’). He was not only con- 
cerned in the events I have described, but manifested a specially 
malignant hatred towards the Bab. So far did this hatred carry 
him, that when the Bab was before Huseyn Khan, the Governor 
of Fars, he drew his penknife from his pen-case, and cried, ‘If 
you will not order his execution, I will kill him with this.’ Later 
on, when the Bab had gone to Isfahan, he followed him thither, 
declaring that he would not cease to dog his footsteps till he had 
enjoyed the satisfaction of carrying out the death sentence on 
him; till at last the Governor of Isfahan sent him back to Shiraz, 
telling him that whenever that time came the mér-ghazab, ot 
executioner, would be ready to do his duty. Well, after his return 
to Shiraz, he became affected with a scrotal swelling, which 
attained so enormous a size that he could hardly sit his horse, | 
and had to be lifted into the saddle. Later on, before he died, 
his face turned black, save that one side was flecked with white 
spots; and thus he lay in his bed, loathsome alike to sight and 
smell, smearing his countenance with filth, and crying upon God 
to whiten his face on the Last Day, when the faces of others 
should be black. So he died.” 

A few days after this l again paid a visit to Haji Seyyid M——’s 
house. ‘Andalib, of course, was there, and took tea with me, 
explaining that as his throat was sore he was not fasting that day. 
He had found the passages, occurring in Beha’s epistle to one 
of the Turkish ministers who had oppressed him, wherein the 

1 Tukhm-i-murgh-ha-yi garm dar mak‘ad-ash fir kardand. 


YEZD 443 


catastrophes impending over the Ottoman Empire were foretold. 
The first (which was in Arabic) ran as follows:— 

“* And if He please, He will assuredly make you as scattered dust, and will over- 
take you with vengeance on His part: trouble shall appear in your midst, and your 


realms shall be divided: then shall ye lament and humble yourselves, and shall not find 
for yourselves any ally or helper.” 


The second (in Persian) ran thus: — 


“But wait, for God’s wrath is made ready, and ye shall shortly behold that which 
hath descended from the Pen of Command.” 

It was a pretty sight to see Haji Seyyid M——— with his little 
child, to which he appeared devotedly attached, and which he 
would seldom suffer to be long out of his sight. When I had read 
the passage above translated, he took the book from me and held 
it out to the little one, saying “‘Kitdb-rd mdch kun” (“Kiss the 
book”’), which, after some coaxing, it was prevailed upon to do. 
A baby Babi! 

On the following afternoon I again visited the Sarhang. 
Another man, to whom he did not introduce me, was with him 
when I arrived, but soon left. The Sarhang upbraided me for 
wishing to leave Yezd so soon, saying that he had not seen 
nearly as much of me as he would have liked, and then asked 
me whether I had attained any greater certainty in the matter 
of the Babi religion. I stated certain difficulties ‘and objections, 
which he discussed with me. He also showed me some Babi 
poems, including one by “‘ Jeadb-i-Maryam” (the sister of Mulla 
Huseyn of Bushraweyh, the Bab’s first convert and missionary), 
written in imitation of a rather celebrated ode of Shams-i-Tabriz. 
While we were examining these, a servant entered and announced 
the arrival of “ Khuda” (“God’’), and close on his heels followed 
the person so designated—a handsome, but rather wild-looking 
man—whose real name I ascertained to be Haji Mirz4 Muham- 
~ mad, commonly called “‘ Divané” (“the Madman’”’). The Sarhang 
introduced him as one controlled by Divine Attraction (“‘maj- 
dbub’’), whose excessive love for God was proof against every 


444 YEZD 


ttial, and who was deeply attached to the words of Christ 
(especially as recorded in the Gospel of St Matthew), which 
would move him to teats. The ““Madman,” meanwhile, had taken 
up one of the volumes of Babi Adydp (Epistles) which the Sar- 
hang had brought out, and began to read from it in a very 
melodious voice. “‘If you could understand all the beauties of 
these words,” he said, as he concluded his reading and laid down 
the book, “you would at once be firmly convinced of the truth 
of the New Manifestation.” 

I tried to put some questions on religious matters to them, 
but at first they would hardly listen to me, pouring forth torrents 
of rhapsody. At length, however, I succeeded in stating some 
of the matters on which I wished to hear their views, viz. the 
position accorded by them to Islam in the series of Theophanies, 
and the reasons for its lower standard of ethics and morality, 
lower ideal of future bliss, and greater harshness of rule and 
practice, as compared with Christianity. The answers which 
they returned made me tealise once again how widely separated 
from each other were our tfespective points of view. They 
seemed to have no conception of Absolute Good or Absolute 
Truth: to them Good was merely what God chose to ordain, 
and Truth what He chose to reveal, so that they could not 
understand how anyone could attempt to test the truth of a 
teligion by an abstract ethical or moral standard. God’s Attti- 
butes, according to their belief, were twofold—“ Attributes of 
Grace” (S7fat-i- Jemdl or Lutf), and “Attributes of Wrath” 
(Sifat-1-Jald/ or Kahr): both were equally divine, and in some 
dispensations (as the Christian and Babi) the former, in some (as 
the Mosaic and the Muhammadan) the latter predominated. A 
divine messenger or prophet, having once established the validity 
of his claim by suitable evidence, was to be obeyed in all things 
without criticism or questioning; and he had as much right to 
kill or compel, as a surgeon has to resort to amputation or the 
actual cautery, in cases where milder methods of treatment 


YEZD AAS 


would be likely to prove ineficacious. As for the Muhammadan 
paradise, with its jewelled thrones, its rivers of milk and wine 
and honey, its delicious fruits, and its beautiful attendants, it 
fulfilled its purpose; for every people must be addressed in words 
suited to the measure of their intellectual capacity, and the people 
to whom the Prophet Muhammad was sent could not have ap- 
prehended a higher ideal of future bliss. They could see nothing 
immoral or unsatisfactory in a man’s renouncing pleasures for- 
bidden in this life so as to enjoy them everlastingly in a future 
state. 

Wishing to ascertain the views of the Sarhang and his friend 
“ Divané” on Sifiism and its saints, I briefly described to them 
certain phases of thought through which I myself had passed, 
and certain conclusions as to the relation and significance of 
different religions which its teachings had suggested to me. “In 
a well-known aphorism,” I concluded, “‘it is said that ‘the ways 
unto God are as the number of the souls of the children of men’ Every 
religion is surely an expression, more or less clear and complete, 
of some aspect of a great central Truth which itself transcends 
expression, even as Nizami says:— 

‘Sitanad zaban az raktbdn-i-raz, 
Ki td rax-i-Sultan na-giyand baz.’ 
‘He taketh the tongue from such as share the mystery, 
So that they may not repeat the King’s secret.’ 

Thus in Islam the Absolute Unity of God is above all insisted 
upon; in the Dualism of the Zoroastrians the eternal conflict 
between Good and Evil, Light and Darkness, Being and Not- 
being, the One and the Many, is symbolised; while the Christian 
Trinity, as I understand it, is the Trinity of the Sun, the Sun- 
beams which proceed from the Sun, and the Mirror, cleansed 
from evety stain, wherein these falling produce (neither by 
Absorption of the Mirror into the Sun, nor by Incarnation of 
the Sun in the Mirror, but by Annihilation of the Mirror-hood 
of the Mirror in the Sun’s effulgence) a perfect image of the Sun. 


446 YEZD 


Even Idolatry subsists only by virtue of a truth which it embodies, 
as Sheykh Mahmud Shabistari says: — 


*Musulman gar bi-danisti ki but chist, 
Bi-danisti ki din dar but-parastist, 


‘Did the Musulman understand what the Idol is, 
He would know that there is religion even in idolatry.’ 


So in every teligion there is Truth for those who faithfully 
and earnestly seek it; and hence we find amongst the followers 
of religions apparently most divergent, living in lands and times 
so widely separated as to preclude all possibility of intercom- 
munication, men who, led by that Inner Light which lighteth 
every one who cometh into the world, have arrived at doctrines 
practically identical. Is not this identity a sign of their truth? 
Is it not, moreover, far more consistent with God’s universal 
mercy to reveal Himself thus inwardly to every pure soul than 
by a written scripture confided only to a comparatively small 
section of the human race? If salvation is only for the people 
of the Kur’an, then how hard is the lot of my people, to most of 
whom no mote than its name, if so much, is known! If, on the 
other hand, only the people of the Gospel are to be saved, what 
possible chance of eternal happiness has been given to the great 
bulk of your fellow-countrymen?” ; 

From a Sufi I should have confidently expected a cordial 
endorsement of these views, but not from a Babi; and I was 
therefore surprised by the acclamations with which both of my 
companions. received them, and still more so by the outburst 
of wild enthusiasm which they evoked in “ Divdné,” who sprang 
from his seat, waving his arms and clapping his hands, with 
cties of ““You have understood it! You have got it! God bless 
you! God bless you!” 

“Well, then,” I continued, “‘what do you consider to be the 
difference between a prophet and a saint who by purification of 
the heart and renunciation of self has reached the degree of 


YEZD 447 


‘Annihilation in God’? For, as your own proverb says, ‘There 
is no colour beyond black.’” 

“The difference,” they replied, “is this. The saint who has 
reached this degree, and can, like Mansur the wool-carder, say, 
‘I am the Truth, has no charge laid on him to guide and direct 
others, and is therefore not bound to be cautious and guarded 
in his utterances, since the possible consequences of these con- 
cern himself alone, and he has passed beyond himself; while the 
prophet is bound to have regard to the dictates of expediency 
and the requirements of the time. Hence it is that, as a matter 
of fact, most of the great Sufi saints were put to death, or sub- 
jected to grievous persecutions.” 

I did not see “the Madman” again, but the Sarhang paid 
me a farewell visit on the morrow, and brought with him another 
officer, who, as I was informed, belonged to the “Ali-[lahi sect, 
and was, like many of that sect, very favourably disposed towards 
Babiism, concerning which the Sarhang spoke freely before 
him. | 

Meanwhile the time of my departure was drawing near, and 
it was in some degree hastened by the kindly-meant but some- 
what irksome attentions of the Prince-Governor. He, as I have 
already mentioned, had set his heart on my visiting a certain 
waterfall in the mountains, without which, he declared, my 
journey to Yezd would be incomplete. As I had no particular 
desire to see this waterfall, and was anxious to avoid the trouble 
and expense in which the mounted escort which he wished to 
send with me would certainly have involved me, I determined 
to party his proposals with those expressions of vague gratitude 
which I had already learned to regard as the most effectual means 
of defence in such cases, and meanwhile to complete my pre- 
patations for departure, and quietly slip away to Kirman with 
a farewell letter of thanks and apologies, to be despatched at 
the last moment. 

There was no particular difficulty about obtaining mules 


448 ie.Z. 19 


for the journey, but it appeared to be impossible to hire a horse 
for myself to ride. Personally, I was quite indifferent as to 
whether I rode on a horse ot a mule, but my friends, both Babis 
and Zoroastrians, were horrified at the idea of my entering 
Kirman on the humbler quadruped: “‘it would be so undignified,” 
they said, ‘so derogatory to my state, so incompatible with the 
idea of distinction!” At first I was disposed to deride these 
notions, pointing out that the well-known Arabic proverb, 
“ Sharafu'l-makan bi’l-makin” (“the dignity of the dwelling is in 
the dweller”) might fairly be paralleled by another, “‘Sharafu’/- 
markab bi’r-rdkib” (“the dignity of the mount is in the rider’’); 
but they evidently felt so strongly on the subject that, seeing 
that I had received much kindness at their hands, and was the 
bearer of letters of recommendation to their friends at Kirman, 
I finally gave way, and asked them what they advised. 

““T advise you to give up the idea of going to Kirman alto- 
gether,” said “Andalib; “you will get no good by it, and you see 
the difficulties that it involves. Go to Acre instead; that will be 
easily done on your homeward journey, and therefrom far 
greater blessings and advantages are likely to result.” 

“But,” said I, “I am in some sort pledged to go to Kirman, 
as I have written to Shiraz and also to my friends in England 
stating this to be my intention.” 

“You are quite right,” said Ardashir, “and I for my part 
advise you to adhere to your plan, for to change one’s plans 
without strong reason is to lay one’s self open to a charge of 
indecision and lack of firm purpose.” 

“Well,” I rejoined, “if Iam not to go there on a mule, and 
cannot hire a horse, what am I to do? Shall I, for instance, walk, 
ot would it be more ‘dignified’ to go on a camel?” 

**Post,” said one. 

““Buy a horse,” said another. 

“As for posting,” I said, “I have had enough of that. I 
never understood the force of the proverb, ‘Es-safar sakar’ 


YEZD 449 


(‘Travel is travail’*) till I posted from Shiraz to Dihbid. But 
as for buying a horse, that is a more practicable idea, supposing 
that a suitable animal is forthcoming at a moderate price. A 
friend of mine at Teheran told me that he kept a horse so as to 
be able to enjoy the luxury of going on foot; because, so long 
as he had no hotse, it was supposed that the cause of his walking 
was either parsimony or poverty; but when it was known that 
he had one, his pedestrian progress was ascribed to eccentricity. 
Now I do not wish to be regarded as poor, still less as par- 
simonious; but I have no objection to being credited with 
eccentricity, and I should greatly enjoy the liberty of being able 
to walk as much and as often as I please.” 

After my guests had gone I talked the matter over with 
Haji Safar, who was strongly in favour of my buying a hotse. 
Although he continued to recur with some bitterness to the 
fact that he had entered Yezd riding on a donkey, he was good 
enough to make no difficulties about riding a mule to Kirman. 

Next day Bahman came bringing with him the muleteer who 
was to supply me with the two mules I needed for my journey. 
He also brought a horse belonging to a Zoroastrian miller, who 
was willing to sell it for eighteen twmadns (neatly £6). It was by 
no means an ill-looking animal, and both Haji Safar and myself, 
having mounted it and tried its paces, liked it well. However, 
with a view to forming a better idea of its capacities, I had it 
saddled again in the evening and went for a short ride outside 
the town, from which I returned delighted, with a full deter- 
mination to buy it. Shortly after my return the owner came to 
the garden, and the bargain was soon concluded to the satis- 
faction of all concerned. Haji Safar was especially delighted. 

1 Literally, “travel is hell-fire.” Between Safar and Sakar there exists that 
species of word-play technically termed ‘ajnis-i-khatt?/, or “linear pun”; 
that is to say, the two words, as written in the Arabic character, are identical 
in outline, and differ only in diacritical points. This play is ingeniously pre- 


served in Sir Richard Burton’s translation or paraphrase of the proverb, which 
is here given in the text. 


B 29 


450 YEZD 


“You will have to give me three or four #4mdns a month more 
now,” he said, ‘“‘to look after your horse.” 

“Or else engage another servant,” I suggested. His face fell. 

“Don’t be afraid,” I continued: “I have enough trouble with 
you already. You shall have the groom’s wages in addition to 
your own, and you can either look after the horse yourself or 
engage someone else to do so; only, in the latter case, please to 
understand clearly that the selection, appointment, payment, and 
dismissal of the groom is to be entirely in your hands, and that 
in no case will I listen to any complaints on either side, or mix 
myself up in any way in the quarrels you are sure to have.” 

Haji Safar was so elated by this arrangement that he launched 
out into 4 series of anecdotes about one of his former masters, 
named Haji Kambar, who had held some position of authority 
(that of chief constable or governor, I believe) in Teheran, some 
fifteen yeats previously. Although his own morals do not seem 
to have been beyond reproach, he punished the offences of others 
with great severity. He ordered a dervish who had got drunk 
on “arak to be bastinadoed for three hours; and even Seyyids 
were not protected from castigation by their holy lineage, for 
which, nevertheless, he would profess the greatest respect, 
causing the dark-blue turbans and sashes which were the out- 
ward sign thereof to be transferred to a tree or bush, to which 
he would then do obeisance ere he bade his farrdshes beat the 
unlucky owner of the sacred tokens within an inch of his life. 
“One evening,” continued Haji Safar, “I and three others of his 
pishkhidmats (pages) were taking a stroll in the town when we 
noticed in a coffee-house a man accompanied by what we at first 
took to be a very handsome youth, round whose kw/déh a hand- 
kerchief was tied in Kurdish fashion, so as to conceal the hair. 
On looking more attentively, however, we were convinced that 
this seeming youth was really a woman in disguise, so we 
atrested the two, and brought them to Haji Kambar’s house. 
Then I went to him, and said, ‘Master, we have brought some- 


YEZD AjI 


thing to show you.’ ‘And what may that be?’ he asked. ‘Come 
with me,’ I said, ‘and I will show you.’ So he followed me into 
the room whete our prisonets were waiting. ‘A nice-looking 
boy, is he not?’ said I, pointing to the younger of the two. 
“Well, what have you brought him here for?’ demanded my 
master. “And nicely dressed too,’ I continued, disregarding his 
question; ‘look at the pretty Kurdish handkerchief he has wound 
round his kuw/dh, and as I spoke I plucked it off, and the girl’s 
hair, escaping from constraint, fell down over her shoulders. 
When the Haji discovered that our prisoner was a girl dressed 
in man’s clothes he was very angry, reviled her in unmeasured 
terms, and ordered her to be locked up in a cupboard, on which 
he set his seal, till the morning. In the morning she was taken 
out, placed in a sack, and beaten all over by the farrdshes, after 
which her head was shaved, and she was teleased.”’ 

I had not yet bought my horse or completed my preparations 
for departure, when I was again sent for by the Prince-Governot. 
This time I had not to go on foot, for one of my Babi friends 
insisted on lending me a very beautiful white horse which be- 
longed to him. I tried to refuse his kind offer, saying that the 
_Dastir was to accompany me to the Government House, and 
that as he could not ride I would rather go on foot also. 

“Tn our country,” I said, “we are taught to respect age and 
learning, and the Dastur is old and learned, for which reason it 
appears to me most unseemly that I should ride and he walk 
beside me. He is a Zoroastrian, I am a Christian; both of us are 
regarded by the Musulmans as infidels and unclean, and, if they 
could, they would subject me to the same disabilities which are 
imposed on him. Let me, therefore, walk beside him to show my 
contempt for those disabilities, and my respect for the Dastur 
and his co-religionists.” 

“Tf you desire to better the Zoroastrians,” replied my friend, 
“it is advisable for you to go to the Prince with as much state 
and circumstance as possible. The more honour paid to you, 


29-2 


452 YEZD 


the better for them.”” The Dastur himself took exactly the same 
view, so there was nothing for it but to acquiesce. 

Half an hour before sunset the horse and servant of my friend 
came to the garden, and immediately after them the usual band 
of Government farrdshes with a large lantern. I had arrayed 
myself in a new suit of clothes, made by a Yezdi tailor, of white 
shawl-stuff, on the pattern of an English suit. These were cool, 
comfortable, and neat; and though they would probably have 
been tegarded as somewhat eccentric in England, I reflected that 
no one at Yezd or Kirm4n would doubt that they were the 
ordinary summer attire of an English gentleman. Haji Safar, 
indeed, laughingly remarked that people would say I had turned 
Babi (I suppose because the early Babis were wont to wear white 
raiment), but otherwise expressed the fullest approval. 

The first question addressed to me by the Prince on my 
entering his presence was, ““When are you going?” On hearing 
that I proposed to start on the next day but one, he turned to 
the Dastur and enquired whether he intended to accompany me. 
The Dastur replied that he could not do so, as one of the Zoro- 
astrian festivals, which necessitated his presence in Yezd, was 
close at hand, and that as it lasted a week I could not postpone 
my departure till it was over. Hearing this, the Prince wished 
to rearrange my plans entirely. I must go on the morrow, he 
said, to visit the waterfall and the mountains, remain there five 
days, then return to the city to see the Zoroastrian festival, and 
after that accompany the Zoroastrians to some of their shrines 
and holy places. Protestations were vain, and I was soon reduced 
to a sulky silence, which was relieved by the otherwise un- 
welcome intrusion of a large tarantula, and its pursuit and 
slaughter. After conversing for a while on general topics, and 
receiving for translation into English the rough draft of a letter 
which the Prince wished to send to Bombay to order photo- 
graphic apparatus for his son, Minuchihr Mirza, I was suffered to 
depart. 


YEZD 453 


I now determined to carry into effect my plan of taking 
French leave of the Prince; and accordingly, my preparations 
being completed, on the very morning of the day fixed for my 
departure I wrote him a polite letter, thanking him very heartily 
for the many attentions he had shown me; expressing regrets 
that the limited time at my disposal would not suffer me either 
to follow out the programme he had so kindly arranged for me 
ot to pay him a farewell visit; and concluding with a prayer 
for the continuance of his kindly feeling towards myself, and of 
his just rule over the people of Yezd. This letter I confided to 
the Dastir, who happened to be going to the Government 
House, together with the English translation of the order which 
the Prince wished to send to the Bombay photographer. 

I now flattered myself that I was well out of the difficulty, 
and returned with relief to my packing; but I had reckoned 
altogether without my host, for in less than an hour I was in- 
terrupted by the Prince’s self-sufficient pishkhidmat, who brought 
back the letter to the Bombay photographer with a request 
that I would write a literal translation of it in Persian. This 
involved unpacking my writing materials, and while I was 
engaged in this and the translation of the letter, one of the ser- 
vants of my Babi friends came with a horse to take me to theit 
house. Towards this man the pishkbidmat behaved with great 
insolence, asking him many impertinent and irrelevant questions, 
and finally turning him out of the room. At length I finished 
the translation, and, to my great relief, got rid of the pishkhidmat, 
as I hoped, for good. I then proceeded to the house of my Babi 
friends, bade them a most affectionate farewell, received from 
them the promised letters of recommendation for Kirman, and 
the names of the principal Babis at Nuk, Bahram-abad, and Niriz, 
and returned about sunset to the garden. Here I found the Das- 
tur, Ardashir, and Bahman awaiting me, and also, to my con- 
sternation, the irrepressible pishkhidmat, who brought a written 
message from the Prince, expressing great regret at my departure, 


454 YEZD 


and requesting me, if possible, to come and see him at once. 
As the hour of departure was now near at hand, and I was weary 
and eager for a little rest before setting out on the long night- 
match to Sar-i-Yezd, I would fain have excused myself; but, 
seeing that my Zoroastrian friends wished me to go, I ordered 
my horse to be saddled, and set out with the pishkhidmat. We rode 
rapidly through the dark and narrow streets, but in crossing the 
waste ground in front of the Government House my horse 
stumbled in a hole and fell with me, luckily without doing much 
harm to himself or me. The Prince was greatly concerned on 
hearing of my fall, and would hardly be persuaded that it was 
of no consequence; indeed, I was rather afraid that he would 
declare it of evil augury for my journey, and insist on my post- 
poning my departure. However, this, my farewell interview, 
passed off as smoothly as could be wished, and I sat for about 
an hour smoking, drinking sherbet, and conversing. He paid 
me many undeserved compliments, declaring that the letter I 
had written to him was better than he could have believed it 
possible for a European to write, and that he intended to send it 
to the prime minister, the Aminu’s-Sultan. I, in return, expressed 
the genuine admiration with which I regarded his just, liberal, 
and enlightened rule; prayed that God might prolong his shadow 
so long as the months repeated themselves and the days re- 
curted; and finished up by putting in a good word for the Zoro- 
asttians. So we patted, with mutual expressions of affection and 
esteem; but not till he had made me promise to accept the escort 
of a mounted /wfankchi or musket-man, and further placed in my 
hands a letter of recommendation to the Prince-Governor of 
Kirman. Of this, which was given to me open and unsealed, 
I preserved a copy, which, as it may be of interest to the curious, 
I here translate, premising only that the terms in which Prince 
‘Imadu’d-Dawla was kind enough to describe me, exaggerated 
as they appear in English, are but the commonplaces of polite 
Persian. 


YEZD 455 


“In the Abode of Security of K1RMAN. May it be honoured by the august service 
of the desirable, most honourable, most illustrious, nobly-born lord, the most mighty, 
most puissant prince, His Highness Nadsiru’d-Dawla (may his glory endure !), 
governor and ruler of the spacious domain of Kirmdn. 

“On the fourteenth of Ramazdn was it despatched. 2468 *. 

‘May I be thy sacrifice! 

“Please God [our] religious devotions are accepted, and the care of God’s 
servants, which is the best of service, on the part of the desirable, most 
honourable, most illustrious, most mighty and eminent prince (may his glory 
endure!) is approved in the divine audience-hall of God; for they have 
said— 

“By service and succour of men we win to the grace of the Lord: 
By this, not by rosary, gown, or prayer-mat, we earn our reward.’ 


“At all events, the bearer of this letter of longing and service is my 
respected and honoured friend, of high degree, companion of glory and 
dignity, Iduard Barim Sahib, the Englishman, who, having come to visit 
this country, and being now homeward bound, hath set his heart on Kirman 
and the rapture of waiting upon the servants of the nobly-born prince. Of 
the characteristics of this illustrious personage it is needless for me to make 
any representation. After meeting him you will be able to appreciate his good 
qualities, and the degree of his culture, and how truly sensible and well 
informed he is, for all his youth and fewness of years. The laudable traits 
which he possesses, indeed, are beyond what one can represent. Since he has 
mentioned that he is setting out for Kirmdan, my very singular devotion im- 
pelled me to write these few words to the Blessed Presence. I trust that the 
sacred person of Your desirable, most illustrious, most mighty, and eminent 
Highness may be conjoined with health and good fortune. More were 
redundant.” 

(Sealed) “IMADU’D-DAWLA. 


It was two hours after sunset when I returned to the garden, 
and finally got rid of the Prince’s pishkhidmat with a present of 
two or three témdns. Haji Safar said that he should have had a 
watch or some other gift of the kind rather than money, which, 
he feared, might be refused or taken amiss. However, I had no 
watch to spare; and I am bound to confess that he was con- 
descending enough to accept the monetary equivalent with grace 
if not gratitude. The farrdshes having likewise been dismissed 


1 This mystic number, corresponding to the word Bad#p, is generally 
written under the address on a letter to ensure its safe arrival. Redhouse says 
it is the name of an angel who is supposed to watch over letters, but I never 
succeeded in obtaining a satisfactory explanation of it. 


456 YEZD 


with presents of money, I was left in peace with my Zoroastrian 
friends, who, after drinking a farewell cup with me, departed, 
with the exception of Bahman, Ardashir’s confidential clerk, who 
remained behind to give me a statement of my finances, and to 
pay over to me the balance still to my credit. The amount for 
which I had brought a cheque from Shiraz was 1474 timdns 
(neatly £45), of which I found that I had drawn 45 tumdns 
during my stay at Yezd. The balance of 1024 tiimdns I elected to 
receive in cash to the amount of 32} témdns and a cheque on 
a Zoroastrian merchant of Kirman for the remaining 70 timdns, 
both of which Bahman, who was as business-like, careful, and 
courteous as any English banker could have been, at once handed 
over to me, receiving in return a receipt for the whole sum with 
which I had been credited at Yezd. 

Little now remained to be done but to eat my supper, put 
a few finishing touches to my packing, and distribute small 
presents of money to some of those who had rendered me 
service. They came up in turn, called by Haji Safar; old Jamshid 
the gardener received 12 krans, his little son Khusraw 6 krans, 
another gardener named Khuda-dad 12 £rdus, and Haji Seyyid 
M ’s servant, 20 &rdns. The farewells were not yet finished, 
for just as 1 was about. to drink a last cup of tea, two of my Babi 
friends came, in spite of the lateness of the hour, to wish me 
God-speed. Then they too left me, and only Bahman was present 
to watch the final departure of our little caravan as it passed 
silently forth into the desert and the darkness. 











CHAPTER XV 


FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 


“ Raftam u burdam dagh-i-Tu dar dil 
Wadi bi-wadi, manzil bi-manzil.” 
“T journeyed on, bearing the brand of Thy grief in my heart, 
From valley to valley, from stage to stage.” 


IVE men and five beasts constituted the little company in 
which I quitted Yezd. Besides myself and my horse, there 
was Amir Khan, one of the “Arab” tribesmen of Ardistan, 
whom the prince had sent as a mounted escort to see me safely 
to the marches of his territory; the muleteer with his three 
mules, two of which only were hired by me; my servant Haji 
Safar; and a young Tabrizi named Mirza Yusuf, who had 
formerly been his fellow-servant, and to whom, at his request, 
and on the recommendation of my friend the Sarhang, [had given 
permission to accompany me to Kirman (where he hoped to 
obtain employment from Prince Nasiru’d-Dawla) and to ride 
on one of the lightly-laden mules. Mirza Yusuf, a conceited 
and worthless youth, had, as I subsequently discovered, and as 
will be more fully set forth in its proper place, been passing 
himself off at Yezd as a Babi, so as to obtain help and money 
from tich and charitable members of that sect; and it was by 
this means, no doubt, that he had induced the Sarhang to bespeak 
my favour for him. Wete all his fellow-townsmen like him, no 
exaggeration would be chargeable against the satirist who 
VRS Zi Labrizt bi-juz bizi na-bint: 
Haman bibtar, ki Tabrézt na-bini.” 
“From a Tabrizi thou wilt see naught but rascality: 
Even this is best that thou should’st not see any Tabrizi.” 


458 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 


Outwardly, however, Mirza Yusuf was sufficiently well-favoured 
and civil-spoken, and it was only after my arrival in Kirman 
that I detected in him any worse quality than complacent self- 
satisfaction and incurable idleness. 

Amir Khan, being well mounted, soon wearied of the slow 
march of the caravan, and urged me to push on with him at a 
brisker pace. I did so, thinking, of course, that he knew the 
way; but this proved to bea rash assumption, for, after traversing 
the considerable village of Muhammad-abad, he lost the road 
and struck off into the open desert, where the soft sand proved 
very arduous to my horse, which began to lag behind. A halt 
which Amir Khan made (not to allow me to come up with him, 
but to say his prayers) brought us once mote together, but the 
subsequent appearance of two gazelles at some distance to our 
left was too much for his self-control, and he set off after them 
at full gallop. I soon abandoned all idea of following him, and, 
having now tealised his complete uselessness, both as a guide 
and a guard, continued to make my solitary way in the direction 
which I supposed to be correct. After some time, Amir Khan, 
. having got a shot at the gazelles and missed them, returned in 
a more subdued frame of mind; and, after again losing the way 
several times, we finally reached the post-house of Sar-i-Yezd 
about sunrise. The remainder of the caravan being far behind, 
I had nothing to do, after seeing to the stabling of my horse, but 
to lie down on the mud floor with my head on the rolled-up great- 
coat which I had strapped to the saddle at starting, and go to sleep. 

I was awakened about three hours later by Haji Safar for my 
morning tea, and passed the day in the post-house writing and 
making up my accounts. About sunset I received a visit from 
a Zoroastrian who was coming up to Yezd from Kirman. He 
remained with me for about an hour, chatting and drinking tea, 
and informed me, amongst other things, that he had spent several 
yeats in Bombay and Calcutta; that the Governor of Kirman, 
Prince Nasiru’d-Dawla, was a most enlightened and popular 


FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 459 


ruler; that Kirman was much cooler than Yezd, as proved by 
the fact that the mulberries were not yet ripe there, and that 
cucumbers were still scarcely to be obtained; that the poverty 
of the inhabitants, always great, had been increased by the 
depreciation in shawls, which fetched less than a third of their | 
former price; but that, as against this, the crops, and especially 
_ the optum crop, had been remarkably good in the last year. 

We left Sar-i-Yezd between three and four hours after sunset 
by the light of a nearly full moon, my Zoroastrian friend coming 
to bid me farewell and wish me God-speed. Amir Khan, who kept 
dozing off in his saddle, again led us astray; and, while we were 
wandering about amongst the sandhills, there reached our ears 
a faint cry, which, in that solitary and ghostly desert, caused us 
to start with surprise. Amir Khan, however, followed by myself, 
made for the spot whence it appeared to come, and there, 
huddled together between two sandhills, we presently discerned 
a gtoup of about half a dozen persons (three men, three women, 
and, I think, one child at least) gathered round a diminutive 
donkey. As we approached, they again addressed us in tones of 
entreaty, but in a dialect which was to me quite unintelligible. 
Amir Khan, however, understood them. They were from the 
“City of Barbar” (Shahr-i-Barbar, which he explained, was near 
Sistan, on the eastern frontier of Persia), and were bound for 
Kerbela, drawn thither by a longing desire to visit the place 
of martyrdom of the Imam Huseyn. They had lost their way in 
the desert and were sorely distressed by thirst, and the boon they 
craved was a draught of water. My heart was filled with pity 
for these poor people, and admiration for their faith and piety; 
and as I bade Haji Safar give them to drink from the leather 
bottle he carried, there ran in my mind the words of Hafiz— 

“ Anche jan-i-“ashikdn az dast-i-hajrat mi-kashad 
Kas na-didé dar jihan, juz tishnagdn-i-Kerbeld.” 


“What the souls of thy lovers suffer at the hands of thy separation 
None hath experienced in the world, save the thirsty ones of Kerbela.” 


460 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 


Thereat, and by the blessings and thanks which they poured 
forth as they gulped down the water, was my compassion still 
further moved, and I felt constrained to give them also a small 
piece of money. For this Amir Khan warmly applauded me, 
as we rtode off, telling the pilgrims that they were within a 
short distance of the village of Sar-1-Yezd. ‘“‘ Those who give,” 
said he, “‘of that which God hath given them will never want, 
and those who will not give are not profited, even in this life, 
by theit avarice. Only yesterday a beggar asked me for money. 
I replied that I had none, though I had three &rdus and a half 
in my pocket at that moment. But when I looked for these a 
little later, 1 found that they were gone, no doubt to punish me 
for my niggardly conduct.” 

After this incident the march continued in sleepy silence; 
but towards dawn Amir Khan, who was riding beside me, 
suddenly woke up from his doze, and remarked, with complete 
irrelevance to anything that had gone before, ““No sect are worse 
than the Babis.” 

“Why?” I enquired, wondering what had caused him to 
introduce spontaneously a subject generally avoided with the 
most scrupulous care by Persian Musulmans. | 

“They worship as God,” he replied, “‘a man called Mirza 
Huseyn “Ali, who lives at Adrianople. A friend of mine at 
Yezd once told me that he was going thete. I asked why. ‘To 
visit God’ (bi-xiydrat-i-Hakk), he answered. When he got there 
he was asked what work his hands could do. ‘None,’ said he, 
‘save writing; for | am a scrivener by profession.’ ‘Then,’ said 
they, ‘there is no place for you here, and we do not want you.’ 
He was not allowed to see Mirza Huseyn ‘Ali at all, but was 
given a handkerchief which he had used, and invited to make 
an offering of three tamdns. So he returned thoroughly dis- 
gusted, ‘for,’ said he, ‘God does not take presents.’” 

While I was considering how I should meet this sally, and 
whether Amir Khan, knowing that I had had dealings with the 


FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 461 


Babis at Yezd, was anxious to warn me against them, he solved 
the difficulty by again dozing off into a fitful slumber, from which 
he awoke “‘between the wolf and the sheep” (meydn-i-gurg u 
mish), as the Persians say—that is, at early dawn. As soon as 
he had collected his scattered wits, he cast his eyes round the 
horizon in hopes of being able to discern our next halting-place, 
Zeynu’d-Din, and, after some scrutiny, declared that we had 
passed it during his sleep, and that it was “‘over there” (pointing 
to a dark line on the plain behind us, some distance off the track 
which we were following). Luckily, warned by previous ex- 
perience, I paid no heed to his opinion, and, supported by Haji 
Safar, insisted on continuing our advance, for which we were 
rewarded by finding ourselves in less than half an hour at Zey- 
nu’d-Din, where there is nothing but a caravansaray and a very 
good post-house. I alighted at the latter, and, after a cup of tea, 
slept for about six houts. 

Zeynu’d-Din is the last halting-place within the territories of 
Yezd, and consequently Amir Khan had been instructed to 
accompany me only thus far on my journey, and to obtain for 
me another mounted guard belonging to the jurisdiction of the 
Governor of Kirman. I had, however, no desire to avail myself 
of this unnecessary luxury, and hinted as much to Amir Khan 
as I placed in his hand ten £rdws. He took the hint and the 
money with equal readiness, and we parted with mutual ex- 
pressions of esteem. The evening was cloudy, with occasional 
gusts of wind, and every now and then a great pillar of sand or 
dust would sweep across the plain, after the fashion of the jinnis 
in the Arabian Nights. The road presented little of interest, being 
ever the same wide ill-defined track, through a sandy plain 
enclosed between two parallel mountain chains, running from 
the north-west to the south-east. At one place I noticed a number 
of large caterpillars (larvae of Deslephila euphorbie, 1 think), 
feeding on a kind of spurge which grew by the roadside. No 
trace of cultivation was visible till we came within a farsakh of 


462 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 


Kirmdnshahan, when we passed two or three villages at about 
the same distance to the east of the road. We reached Kirman- 
shahdn half an hour before sunset, and alighted at the post- 
house, which was the best I had seen in Persia. There are also 
two catavansarays, one old and one new. As no meat was 
obtainable, I made my supper off eggs fried in oil, and then 
went to sleep. 

I woke about two hours before dawn to find the people of 
the post-house eating their morning meal preparatory to entering 
on the day’s fast. Haji Safar and the muleteer, however, were 
sleeping so peacefully that it seemed a shame to wake them, so 
I lay down again and slept for another two hours, when I was 
awakened by Haji Safar. It was quite light when we started, but 
this was of little advantage, as the scenery was precisely the same 
in character as on the previous day. The road, however, hugged 
the western range of mountains more closely, and indeed at 
one point we passed inside a few outlying hills. Kirmanshahan 
was in sight for two hours and a quarter after we had left it, and 
we had no sooner crossed a slight rise which finally hid it from 
our view than we caught sight of the caravansaray of Shemsh, 
which, however, it took us nearly three hours more to reach. 

A more dismal spot than Shemsh it would be hard to imagine. 
There is nothing but the aforesaid caravansaray and a post- 
house (singularly good, like all the postthouses between Yezd 
and Kirman) standing side by side in the sandy, salt-strewn plain. 
As I rede up to the latter edifice, I saw a little stream, very clear 
and sparkling, carefully banked up between mud walls which 
conducted it into a small pond. Being overcome with thirst, 
I flung myself from my horse and dipped my face into it to get 
a long draught of what I supposed to be pure fresh water. To 
my disappointment it proved to be almost as salt as the sea. 
There was no other water to be had, and Haji Safar had thrown 
away what was left from Kirmanshahan; nor did my hope that 
boiling might improve it, and that a decent cup of tea might at 


FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 463 


least be obtainable, prove well-founded. No one who has not 
tried it can imagine how nasty a beverage is tea made in a copper 
teapot with brackish water. Luckily my kind Zoroastrian friends 
had forced me to accept two bottles of beer from them as I was 
leaving Yezd, and these, in that thirsty wilderness, were as the 
very elixir of life. Even so the day was a horrible one, and 
seemed almost interminable. Swarms of flies, distant thunder, 
and a violent gusty wind increased my despondency; and the 
only discovery in which a visit to a neighbouring mud-tuin 
resulted was a large and very venomous-looking serpent. Alto- 
gether I was heartily glad to leave this detestable place about 
four and a half hours after sunset, by the light of a radiant 
moon. 

The monotony of the march to the next stage, Andr, was 
only twice broken, first by meeting a string of twenty-five camels 
going up to Yezd, whose drivers greeted us with the usual 
“Fursat bdshad!” (“May it be opportune!”); and secondly by 
the appearance of some wild beast which was prowling about 
by the road, but which, on our approach, slunk off into the 
desert. About dawn we arrived at Anar, a flourishing village 
containing a good many gardens, and surrounded by fields in 
which men were busy reaping the corn. Here we alighted at 
the post-house to test and refresh ourselves before continuing 
out march to the next stage, Beyaz, which we reached without 
incident a little before sundown. 

Beyaz is a small hamlet containing a few trees, and not devoid 
of signs of cultivation. Three or four camels were resting and 
taking their food in a field opposite the post-house, where I 
alighted in preference to the large but dilapidated caravansaray. 
Soon after our arrival, a party of mounted ghu/dms rode up, and 
bivouacked outside under the trees. One of these, as Haji Safar 
informed me, was anxious to “challenge” my horse. This 
practice (called muwdzi bastan) | was surprised to find amongst 
the Persians, as I had hitherto only met with it in the pages of 


464 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 


Mr Sponge’s Sporting Tour. For those not familiar with that 
entertaining work, I may explain how the transaction would 
have been conducted if I had given my consent (which, needless 
to say, [didnot do). The ghulim who had “challenged” my horse 
suggested that the postmaster (”d’ib-chdpdr) should act as umpire 
between the two animals, and to this Haji Safar (acting, as he 
chose to consider, as my representative) agreed. Haji Safar then 
informed the xa’tb-chdpdr that I had bought my horse for thirty 
timdns (as a matter of fact it had only cost me sixteen /émdns), 
but the latter valued it still higher, at thirty-five ta4mdns. How- 
ever, he valued the ghu/dm’s horse at forty témadns (it was probably 
worth twelve at the outside), so that the “award” was that my 
horse should “give” the ghuldm’s hotse five témadns, ot, in other 
words, that I should give the ghulim my horse and five tdmans 
in money for his horse. 

We left Beyaz about four hours before sunset, and continued 
our south-easterly march along a ttack so ill-defined that I felt 
impelled to make a wide detour towards the telegraph-posts, 
which lay some distance to the east, in the expectation of finding 
something mote like a high road. As dusk drew on the whole 
character of the country began to change: rivulets and streams 
intersected it in every direction; the air grew moist and damp, 
like that of a fen; and the night re-echoed with the shrill chirping 
of grasshoppers and the hoarse croakiny of frogs. Once we lost 
our way amongst the ditches and cornfields, and floundered 
about-for some time in the dark ere, rather by good luck than 
good management, we again struck the road. Flickering lights 
in the distance, probably will-o’-the-wisps, kept our hopes of 
speedy arrival alive; but it was only after repeated disappoint- 
ments that the welcome outline of the post-house of Kushkth 
loomed out, like some “‘moated grange,” through the darkness. 
We had to wake the postmaster ere we could gain admission, 
and no sooner was my bed spread in the porch of the bd/a-khdné, 
ot upper chamber, than I fell sound asleep, lulled by a chorus of 


FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 465 


frogs and grasshoppers, till supper-time, after which I again 
composed myself for slumber. 

When Haji Safar brought me my tea next morning, he in- 
formed me that the muleteer, Zeynu’l-‘Abidin, had decided to 
remain at Kushkuh, to rest his beasts after their forced marches 
of the last day or two, till sundown, so as to accomplish the 
seven long parasangs which separated us from the considerable 
town of Bahram-abad (the capital of the district known as Rafsin- 
jan) during the night. I was not sorry for the rest, and, though 
much pestered by flies, passed a tolerably comfortable day in the 
little post-house. We started by starlight about three hours 
after sunset, but in about an hour the moon tose up to 
light us on out way. The night was quite chilly and the march 
vety tedious, and even when soon after dawn we sighted 
Bahram-abad, a weary length of wilfully sinuous and serpentine 
road remained to be traversed ere we aay alighted at the 
post-house. 

At Bahram-abad I had a letter of introduction from Haji 
Seyyid M—— to the chief of the posts in that district, which, 
after lunch, I caused to be conveyed to him. He came to visit — 
me without delay, and after sitting for a short time carried me 
off to his office in the caravansaray. While I was. there several 
persons came to see him, amongst them a fine-looking young 
Khan of Rafsinjan, who had just returned from Sirjan by way 
of Pariz and God-i-Ahmar. He had with him the body of an 
enormous lizard (buz-mazjé) which he had shot on the road. About 
three hours before sunset my host took me to his house and gave 
me tea, after which I was waited upon successively by deputa- 
tions of Zoroastrians and Hindoos, both of which classes regard 
an Englishman as their natural friend and ally. The Zoroastrians 
were only three in number: one of them was Ardashir Mihraban’s 
agent, and of the other two one was an old man called Mihraban, 
and the other a young man named Ardashir. They told me that 
there were in all about twenty or twenty-five Zoroastrians in 


B 30 


466 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 


Bahram-abdd; that their co-religionists in Kirman were much less 
subject to insult and annoyance, and in all ways better off, than 
those in Yezd; and that the chief products of Rafsinjan were, 
besides cereals, almonds and pistachio-nuts, which were exported 
to India. 

After the departure of the Zoroastrians, the whole Hindoo 
community (save one, who was ill) waited upon me. There 
were fourteen of them, men and youths, all natives of Shikarpur, 
and they brought me as a present an enormous block of sugar- 
candy. One of them had recently been robbed of a large sum 
of money, and, as the Persian Governor could not succeed in 
capturing the thief, and would not make good the loss, he 
begged me to make a representation of the facts to the English 
Embassy at Teheran. I promised to come and inspect the scene 
of the outrage, if I had time, without further committing myself; 
and shortly afterwards the deputation withdrew. I remained 
to supper with the postmaster, who made me eat to repletion 
of his excellent pi/dy, washed down with a delicious sherbet, and 
strove to persuade me to stay the night with him; but I excused 
myself on the ground that the muleteer would probably wish 
to start. However, on arriving at the chdpar-khdné, whither he 
insisted on accompanying me, I found that, as the morrow, 
21st Ramazan, was the anniversary of the Imam “‘Ali’s death, 
and consequently an unlucky day, neither Haji Safar nor the 
muleteer wished to continue the march till the following 
evenitre. | 

I did not go out next day till about three hours before sunset, 
when the postmaster sent his servant to bring me to his house. 
I conversed with him for about two hours, and he enquired 
vety patticularly about the signs which should herald Christ’s 
coming, but did not make any further allusion to the beliefs 
of the Babis, which, I believe, were his own. Our conversation 
was interrupted by the arrival of one of the Hindoos, who wished 
me to inspect the scene of the recent robbery, which I agreed to 


FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 467 


do. We found all the other Hindoos assembled in the caravan- 
satay where they lodged, and I was at once shown the inner room 
whence the safe (containing, as they declared, 400 témdns in 
cash, and 14,000 timdns in cheques and letters of credit) had been 
abstracted by the thieves, who, as it was supposed, had entered 
by the chimney. Ten or fifteen men had been arrested on 
suspicion by the Governor, Mirza Hidayatu’llah, but, as there 
was no sufficient evidence against any of them, they had been 
released. I took notes of these matters, and promised to bring 
them to the notice of some of my friends in the English Embassy 
if I got the chance; and we then conversed for a time, while I 
smoked a kalyén which they brought me. They questioned me 
closely as to the objects of my journey, and refused to credit 
my assertion that I was travelling for my own instruction and 
amusement, declaring that I must be an agent of the English 
Government. 

“Why don’t you take Persia?” said one of them at length: 
“you could easily if you liked.” 

“T suppose the thief who took your money put the same 
question to himself with regard to it,” I replied, “and yet you 
feel that you have a just ground of complaint against him. People 
have no tight to take their neighbours’ property, even if they 
think they can do so with impunity, and states are no more 
entitled to steal than individuals.” The Hindoos appeared to 
be still unconvinced, and my sympathy for their loss was con- 
siderably abated. 

I returned to the postmaster’s house for supper, after which 
he caused soft pillows and bolsters to be brought, and insisted 
on my resting for a couple of hours before starting. At the end 
of this time Haji Safar awoke me to tell me that the caravan was 
ready to start, and, after a final cup of tea and a hasty farewell 
to my kind host, I was once more on the road. We lost our way 
at the very start, and wandered about for some time in the star- 
light, until we came to one or two small houses. The wd’sb-chapdr 


30-2 


468 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 


of Bahram-abad, who had joined our party, hammered at the door 
of one of these till an old peasant, aroused from his sleep, came 
out, and directed us on our way. But this did not satisfy the 
nd’ib-chdpdr, who compelled the poor old man to accompany us 
for a mile or so, which he rather unwillingly did; though two 
krdns which I gave him as he was leaving us more than satisfied 
him for the trouble he had incurred. 

About dawn, while still distant some two parasangs from our 
halting-place, Kabutar Khan, we passed a company of men, 
with a young girl enveloped in a white chddar, who were going 
down to Kirman, and exchanged a few words with them. We 
reached the post-house of Kabuitar Khan (which seemed to be 
entirely in the charge of a very quaint old woman) about an hour 
after sunrise, and remained there till about three hours after 
sunset, when we again set out for Baghin. The man who had 
been our companion on the previous stage again joined us, being 
now mounted on a very small donkey which he had hired for 
thirty shdhis (about twopence) to take him to Baghin. A little 
boy named ‘Abbas accompanied the donkey, and several times 
the man dismounted to allow him to ride for a while, on which 
occasions he would break out into snatches of song in his sweet, 
childish voice. 

Before we reached Baghin, the great broad plain running 
towatds the south-east, which we had followed since leaving 
Yezd, began to close in, and mountains appeared in front of us, 
as well as on either hand. Soon after dawn we reached Baghin 
(which is a small village surrounded by a considerable extent 
of cultivated ground), and, as usual, put up at the post-house. 
Here we remained till four hours after sunset, when the mules 
were loaded up for the last time, for that night’s march was to 
bring us to our journey’s end. Our course now lay nearly due 
east, along a good level road; and when the dawn began to 
brighten over the hills before us, Kirman, nestling, as it seemed, 
at the very foot of their black cliffs, and wrapped like one of her 


FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 469 


own daughters in a thin white mantle of mist and smoke, glad- 
dened our straining eyes. 

My original intention had been to alight in the first instance 
at the post-house, but as this proved to be situated at some 
distance outside the city walls, and as I was eager to be in the 
very centre of the town without further delay, I decided to take 
up my quarters instead at one of the caravansarays. It was 
fortunate that I did so; for events so shaped themselves that my 
sojourn at Kirman, instead of lasting only ten days or a fortnight, 
as I then intended, was prolonged for more than two months; 
and, for reasons soon to be mentioned, it would probably have 
been difficult for me to have quitted the post-house if I had once 
taken up my abode there without offending my good friend the 
postmaster of Kirman. 

On entering the city we first made our way through the 
bazaats to the caravansaray of the Vakil, which we were told 
was the best; but here there was no room to be had, so, after 
some delay, during which I was surrounded by a little crowd 
of sightseers, we proceeded to the caravansaray of Haji ‘Ali Aké, 
where I obtained a lodging. While the beasts were being un- 
loaded I was accosted by two Zoroastrians, one of whom proved 
to be Ardashir Mihraban’s agent, Mulla Gushtasp. (AIl the 
Zoroasttians in Kirman are entitled “Mulla,” even by the 
Muhammadans.) They came into my toom and sat down for 
a while, and Gushtasp told me that he had found a place for 
me to stay in during my sojourn at Kirman in a garden outside 
the town. They soon left me, and, after a wash and a shave, 
I slept till nearly noon, when I was awakened by a farrdsh from 
the telegraph-ofiice, who was the bearer of a telegram from 
Cambridge, which had been sent on from Shiraz. The original, 
which, of course, was in English, arrived by post the same 
evening, and ran—‘‘ Please authorise name candidate for Persian 
readership, Neil.” The Persian translation (made, I believe, at 
Kashan, where the wires from Shiraz and Kirman to the capital 


47O FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 


join) was as follows:—“Khwdhish ddram idhn bi-dihid shumd-ra 
bardyi mu‘allimt-i-farsi taklif kunam. Nil’ I was tather over- 
whelmed by the reflection that even here at Kirman I was not 
beyond the reach of that irrepressible nuisance of this age of ours, 
electricity. 

Haji Safar had already succeeded in discovering a relative in 
Kirman (a cousin on his mother’s side, as I understood)—a 
sleek, wily-looking man of about fifty, generally known as 
“N@#ib Hasan”—whom he brought to see me. While he was 
with me, a Greek of Constantinople, who had turned Musulman 
and settled in Kirman, joined the party, and conversed with me 
a little in Turkish. Then came servants from the telegraph-office 
to enquire on the part of their master (a prince as well as a 
telegraphist, but then, as I have already remarked, princes are 
not rate in Persia) how I did, and when I would come and visit 
him (for I had an introduction to him from my friends at Yezd, 
who had also written to him about me); and hard on the heels of 
these came the son of the postmaster of Kirman (to whom also 
I had letters of recommendation), so that I had hardly a moment’s 
leisure. This last visitor carried me off to see his father at the 
Central Post Office in the town. The postmaster, a kindly-looking 
man, past middle age, with a gray moustache and the rank of 
colonel (sartzp), gave me a most friendly welcome, but reproached 
me for being a day later than he had been led to expect by the 
postmaster of Bahram-abad, who appeared to have sent him a 
message concerning me. “Although I am in poor health,” 
said he, “and am, as you see, lame in one foot, I rode out nearly 
three parasangs to meet you yesterday, for I wished to be the 
first to welcome you to Kirman; and I also wanted to tell you 
that the chdpar-khdné, which is well built and comfortable, and 
is intended for a residence, is entirely at os disposal, and that 
I hope you will stay in it while you are here.” 

I next proceeded to the telegraph-office to visit the prince, 
whom I found sitting at the instrument with his pretty little son 


FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 471 


opposite him. He in turn insisted that I should take up my abode 
at a new telegraph-office which had just been completed for him, 
and it was with great difficulty that I got him to acquiesce in the 
plan which I had formed of inspecting the three residences chosen 
for me in advance by my kind friends of Kirman. Indeed I was 
somewhat embarrassed by their hospitality, for I was afraid 
that, whichever place I selected, I could hardly hope to avoid 
giving offence to the owners of the other two. As, however, 
it was clear that I could not live in all of them, I decided in my 
own mind that I would just choose the one I liked best; and 
accotdingly, after I had conversed for a short while with the 
prince, I set off with the postmaster’s son to visit the chdpar- 
khdné to the north, and the Zoroastrian garden to the south, of 
the town. 

The chapdr-khané proved fully worthy of the praises bestowed 
on it by the postmaster, for the rooms in it were spacious, clean, 
and comfortable, and looked out on to a pleasant garden. We 
smoked a cigarette there, while horses were saddled to take us 
to the garden of the Zoroastrians. Thither we rode through the 
town, which we entered by the north gate (called Derwazé-i- 
Sultdni) and quitted by the south gate (Derwdzé-i-Ndsiriyyé). In 
the garden, which was just outside the latter, we found the two 
Zoroasttians who had first accosted me in the caravansatay, 
Ardashir’s agent, Gushtdsp, and Feridun, a man of about twenty- 
five years of age, with both of whom I afterwards became very 
intimate. After sitting for a while in the chdr-fas/ or summert- 
house, which stood in the middle of the garden, and partaking 
of the wine, ‘arak, and young cucumbers which the Zoroasttians, 
accotding to their usual custom, had brought with them, we 
returned together to the caravansaray. Na ib Hasan presently 
joined us, and outstayed all my other visitors. As he seemed 
inclined to take the part of confidential adviser, I informed him 
of the difficulty in which I was placed as to the selection of a 
lodging from the three proposed. After reflecting a moment, 


472 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 


he said, “S¢hzb, you must of necessity run the risk of offending 
two out of three persons, and therefore, as you cannot avoid 
this, you need only consult your own inclination in the matter. 
If you accept the prince’s offer and take up your abode in 
the telegraph-office, you will be continually subjected to some 
degree of constraint, and will be always surrounded by inquisitive 
and meddlesome servants. If you go to the chapdr-khdné, you 
will be outside the city, and will only see the friends of the sartip 
of the post-office. In the guebres’ garden, on the other hand, you 
will be your own master, and will be free and unconstrained. My 
advice, therefore, is, that you should select the last, and make 
polite excuses to the prince and the sart/p.” As this counsel 
seemed good to me, I determined to act on it without delay; 
and it was arranged, at Na’ib Hasan’s suggestion, that I should 
transfer myself and my possessions to the garden on the following 
morning, so that ere my apologies should reach the prince and 
the sartip the transfer might be an accomplished fact, admitting 
of no further discussion. Soon after this Na’ib Hasan departed, 
and I was left at leisure to enjoy the welcome letters which that 
day’s post had brought me from home. 

The move to the garden was duly effected on the following 
morning (Wednesday, 5th June, 25th Ramazan) with the help 
of N#ib Hasan, Feridun, and a Zoroastrian lad named Rustam, 
who was brother to my friend Bahman of Yezd. Of this garden, 
which was my residence for the next two months, I may as well 
give w brief description in this place. Its extent was several acres. 
It was entirely surrounded by a high but rather dilapidated mud 
wall. It was divided transversely (¢.e. in a direction parallel to 
the main road leading to the Derwdzé-i-Ndsiriyyé, or southern 
gate of the city, which bounded it to the west) by another mud 
wall (in which was a gap which served the purpose of a gate), 
and longitudinally by a stream—not one of the niggardly, three- 
hours-a-day streams of Yezd, but a deep, clear brook, in which 
I was often able to enjoy the luxury of a bathe. Besides the 


FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 473 


summet-house; or chdr-fas/, of which I have already spoken, and 
which stood in the middle of the northern half of the garden, 
about half-way between the stream and the northern wall, there 
was a larger building, consisting of two rooms and a small 
courtyard, standing on the very edge of the stream. It was in 
this more spacious building that I established myself on my 
attival, using the larger of the two rooms (which had windows 
to the east and south, the former looking out into the courtyard, 
the latter on to the stream) for myself, and leaving the smaller 
chamber at the back to Haji Safar and Mirza Yusuf; but after- 
watds, when the heat waxed greater (though it was at no time 
severe), I lived for the most part in the little summer-house, 
which, being open to the air on all four sides, was cooler and 
pleasanter. From the larger building another wall ran west- 
wards towards the main road leading to the Derwdzé-1-Nasiriyyé, 
partially cutting off the south-west portion of the garden from 
that which I occupied. This south-west or outer part of the 
garden appeared to be in some measure public property, for often, 
as I passed through it to reach the gate, I saw groups of women 
washing their linen in the stream which traversed it. The garden 
had been originally planned and laid out by a former vizier of 
Kirman (whose son, Mirza Jawad, a man of about fifty years of 
age, occupied a house in another garden not far distant from this), 
but he, ere his death (so, at least, I gathered), having fallen into 
disgrace and comparative poverty, it had been neglected and 
suffered to run wild, and was now let to some of the Zoroastrians, 
who used it chiefly for the cultivation of plants useful either as 
food or medicine. In truth it was rather a wilderness than a 
gatden—albeit a fair and fragrant wilderness; and never a calm, 
clear summer night, sweet with the scent of the rose and melodious 
with the song of the nightingale, but I am again transported 
in the spirit to that enchanted ground. Is there one who dares 
to maintain that the East has lost its wonder, its charm, or 
its terror? Then he knows it not; or only knows that outer 


474 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 


ctust of commonplace which, under the chil influence of 
Western utilitarianism and practical sense, has skimmed its 
surface. 








CrA PER XV 1 


Ke PREMEAONG'S ©: PE THY 


“ Har chand ki az ruyi kariman khajilim, 
Gham nist, ki parvarde-t-in ab u gilim: 
Dar riyi zamin nist chi Kirman ja’t; 
Kirmdn dil-t-‘dlam-ast, u mda ahl-i-dilim!” 
“« Although we stand abashed in the presence of the noble, 
It matters not, since we have drawn nourishment from this earth and water: 
On the face of the earth there is no place like Kirman; 
Kirmdan is the heart of the world, and we are men of heart.” 


N no town which I visited in Persia did I make so many 

friends and acquaintances of every grade of society, and every 
shade of piety and impiety, as at Kirman. When I left I made 
a list of all the persons who had visited me, or whom I had 
visited, and found that the number of those whom I could 
remember fell but little short of a hundred. Amongst these 
almost every rank, from the Prince-Governor down to the 
mendicant dervish, was represented, as well as a respectable 
variety of creeds and nationalities—Belichis, Hindoos, Zoro- 
asttians, Shi‘ites and Sunnis, Sheykhis, Sufis, Babis, both Beha’i 
and Ezeli, dervishes, and kalandars belonging to no order, 
fettered by no dogma, and trammelled by but few principles. 
Hitherto I had always been more or less dependent on the 
hospitality of friends, whose feelings I was obliged to consult 
in choosing my acquaintances; here in Kirman the garden 
where I dwelt was open to all comers, and I was able without let 
ot hindrance to pursue that object which, since my arrival in 
Persia, had been ever before me, namely, to familiarise myself 
with all, even the most eccentric and antinomian, developments 


476 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


of the protean Persian genius. I succeeded beyond my most 
sanguine expectations, and, as will presently be set forth, found 
myself ere long in a world whereof I had never dreamed, and 
wherein my spirit was subjected to such alternations of admira- 
tion, disgust, and wonder, as I had never before in my life 
experienced. 

All this, however, did not come to me at once, and would 
not, perhaps, have come at all but for a fortunate misfortune 
which entirely altered all my plans, and prolonged the period 
of my stay at Kirman from the fortnight or three weeks which 
I had originally intended to a couple of months. For just as I 
was about to depart thence (having, indeed, actually engaged a 
muleteer for the journey to Shiraz by way of Sirjan, Khir, and 
Niriz), I fell a victim to a sharp attack of ophthalmia, which for 
some weeks compelled me to abandon all idea of resuming my 
travels. And this ophthalmia, from which I suffered no little 
pain, had another result tending to throw me more than would 
otherwise have been the case into the society of dervishes, 
dreamers, and mystics. Judge me not harshly, O thou who hast 
never known sickness—ay, and for a while partial blindness— 
in a strange land, if in my pain and my wakefulness I at length 
yielded to the voice of the tempter, and fled for refuge to that 
most potent, most sovereign, most seductive, and most en- 
thralling of masters, opium. Unwisely I may have acted in this 
matter, though not, as I feel, altogether culpably; yet to this 
unwisdom I owe an experience which I would not willingly 
have forfeited, though I am thankful enough that the chain of 
my servitude was snapped ere the last flicker of resolution and 
strenuousness finally expired in the Nirvana of the opium-smoker. 
I often wonder if any of those who have returned to tell the tale 
in the outer world have wandered farther than myself into the 
flowery labyrinths of the poppy-land, for of him who enters its 
fairy realms too true, as a tule, is the Persian opium-smoket’s 
epigram— 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 477 


“ Hazrat-i-afyun-t-md har marazi-ra rewdst, 
Litk chi ‘ddi shudt, khud maraz-t-bi-dewast.” 


“Sir Opium of ours for every ill is a remedy swift and sure, 
But he, if you bear for a while his yoke, is an ill which knows no cure.” 


Although it was some while after my arrival in Kirman 
that I became numbered amongst the intimates of the afore- 
said Sir Opium, he lost no time in introducing himself to my 
" notice in the person of one of his faithful votaries, Mirz4 Huseyn- 
Kuli of Bam (a pleasant, gentle, dreamy soul, of that type which 
most readily succumbs to the charm of the poppy), who came to - 
visit me in Na’ib Hasan’s company on the very day of my entry 
into the garden. Soon after this, too, I came into daily relations 
with another bondsman of the all-potent drug, one ‘Abdu’l 
Huseyn, whom Haji Safar, in accordance with the agreement 
made between himself and myself at Yezd, had hired to look after 
my horse. He was far advanced on the downward path, and often, 
when sent to buy bread or other provisions in the shops hard by 
the city-gate, would he remain away for hours at a time, and 
return at last without having accomplished his commission, and 
unable to give any account of how the time had passed. This 
used to cause me some annoyance till such time as I too fell 
under the spell of the poppy-wizard, when I ceased to care any 
longer (because the opium-smoker cares not greatly for food, 
ot indeed for aught else in the material world save his elixir); 
nay, I even found a certain tranquil satisfaction in his vagaries. 
But I must leave for a while these delicious reminiscences and 
return to the comparatively uneventful fortnight with which 
my residence at Kirman began. Of this I shall perhaps succeed 
in giving the truest picture by following in the main the daily 
entries which I made in my diary. 

On the day of my instalment in the garden (Wednesday, 
sth June, 25th Ramazdn) 1 teceived several visitors besides the 
opium-smoker of Bam. Chief amongst these was a certain 
notable Sheykh of Kum, whose doubtful orthodoxy had made 


478 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


it expedient for him to leave the sacred precincts of his native 
town for happy, heedless Kirmdn. Here he had succeeded in 
gaining the confidence and esteem of Prince Nasiru’d-Dawla, 
the Governor, in whose society most of his time was passed, 
either in consultation on affairs of state, or in games of chance, 
for which he cared the less because he was almost invariably the 
loser. He was a burly, genial, kind-hearted gentleman, with but 
little of the odour of sanctity so much sought after in his native ~ 
town, and a fund of wit and information. I afterwards saw much 
of him, and learned that he was an Ezeli Babi, so far as he was 
anything at all (for by many he was accounted a free-thinker, 
““/d-madhhab”); but in this first interview he gave no further 
indication of his proclivities than to enquire whether I had not 
a copy of Manakji’s New History of the Babi Theophany. With 
him came two brothers, merchants of Yezd, whom I will call 
Aka& Muhsin and Ak4é Muhammad Sddik. Of the former, who 
was an ortthodox Shi‘ite, I saw but little subsequently; but with 
the younger brother, a man of singular probity and most amiable 
disposition, I became rather intimate, and from him I met with 
a disinterested kindness which I shall not omit to record in its 
ptoper place. He too was a Babi, but a follower of Beha, not 
of Ezel; as also was a third brother, who, being but a lad of 
fifteen or sixteen, was suddenly so overcome by a desire to behold 
the face of Beha that he ran away from Kirmdn with only five 
tdmdns in his pocket, with the set purpose of making his way to 
Acre, on the Syrian coast, in which project, thanks to the help 
of kindly Zoroastrians at Bandar-i-‘Abb4s, and the Babis of 
Bombay and Beyrout, he was successful. I subsequently made 
the acquaintance of another lad whose imagination was so stitred 
by this exploit that he was determined to imitate it at the first 
opportunity, though whether or no his plan was realised I 
cannot say. 

Thursday, 6th June, 26th Ramaxdn—Soon after I was up I 
received a visit from Nda’ib Hasan (who, indeed, lost no time in 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 479 


establishing himself in the position of my guide, philosopher, 
and friend, and who seldom allowed a day to pass without 
giving me the pleasure of his society for a good many hours, 
including at least one meal). With him came Rustam, the 
young Zoroastrian of whom I have already spoken, who, on this 
occasion, outstayed the Na’ib. This Rustam was a well-mannered 
and intelligent lad, whose only fault was an unduly deferential 
manner, which at times I found rather irksome. He asked me 
many questions about my country and about America (“‘ Yangi- 
dunyd,” “‘the New World’’), in which, like several other Persians 
whom I met, he appeared to take an extraordinary interest; for 
what reason I know not, since he had not the excuse of supposing, 
like some Muhammadans, that thence, by some underground 
channel, Antichrist (Dajjda/) shall reach the well in Isfahan from 
which, at the end of time, he is to appear. 

In the afternoon I went into the town, accompanied by Haji 
Safar and Mirza Yusuf, notwithstanding a message which | 
received from the Sardar of Sistan informing me of his intention 
of paying me a visit. We passed the walls, not by the adjacent 
Derwazé-i-Ndsiriyya, but by another gate called Derwdzé-z- 
Masjid (“the Mosque Gate”’), lying more to the west, from which 
a busy thoroughfare (thronged, especially on “Friday eve,” with 
hosts of beggars) leads directly to the bazaars, and paid a visit 
to my Zoroastrian friends in the caravansaray of Ganj ‘Ali Khan 
(where, for the most part, their offices are situated) and to the 
post-office. In the bazaars I met a quaint-looking old Hindoo, 
who persisted in addressing me in his own uncouth Hindi, 
which he seemed to consider that I as an Englishman was bound 
to understand. We returned about sunset by the way we had 
come, and met crowds of people, who had been to pay their 
respects to a deceased saint interred in a mausoleum just outside 
the Mosque Gate, re-entering the city. 

On reaching the garden I found another visitor awaiting me— 
an inquisitive, meddlesome, self-conceited scion of some once 


480 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


influential but now decayed family, who, in place of the abundant 
wealth which he had formerly possessed, subsisted on a pension 
of 150 témdns allowed him by the Prince-Governor in considera- 
tion of his former greatness. For this person, whose name was 
Haji Muhammad Khan, I conceived a very particular aversion. 
He manifested a great curiosity as to my rank, my income, and 
the object of my journey, and presently assured me that he 
detected in me a remarkable likeness to the Prince of Wales, 
with whom, he declared, he had struck up an acquaintance one 
evening at the Crystal Palace. “Don’t attempt to deceive me,” 
he added, with many sly nods and winks: “I understand how one 
of noble birth may for a time be under a cloud, and may find it 
expedient to travel in disguise and to forgo that state and 
circumstance to which he is justly entitled. [ am in somewhat 
the same position myself, but I am not going to continue thus 
for long. I have had a hint from the Avminu’s-Sultdn, and am 
wanted at Teheran. There are those who would like to prevent 
my teaching the capital,” he continued mysteriously, “but never 
fear, I will outwit them. When you leave Kirman for Shiraz, I 
leave it in your company, and with me you shall visit Shahr-i- 
Babak and many other interesting places on our way thither.” 
N@ ib Hasan fooled him to the top of his bent, unfolding vast 
and shadowy pictures of my power and affluence, and declaring 
that I had unlimited credit with the Zoroastrian merchants of 
Kirman; which falsehoods -Haji Muhammad Khan (whom 
copious libations of beer were rendering every moment more 
ctedulous and mote mysterious) greedily imbibed. When he had 
gone I remonstrated vigorously with the Na’ib for his mendacity. 
“I suppose it is no use for me to remind you that it is wicked to 
tell lies,” I remarked, ‘“‘but at least you must see how silly and 
how futile it is to make assertions whereof the falsity cannot 
remain hidden for more than a few days, and which are likely 
to land me in difficulties.” But the Na ib only shook his head 
and laughed, as though to say that lying was in itself an artistic 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 481 


and pleasurable exercise of the imagination, in which, when 
there was no teason to the contrary, he might fairly allow him- 
self to indulge. So, finding remonstrance vain, I presently retired 
to rest in some disgust. 

Friday, 7th June, 27th Ramazdn—In the morning I was 
visited by an old Zoroastrian woman, who was anxious to learn 
whether I had heard in Teheran any talk of Aflatun (“‘Plato’’) 
having turned Musulman. It took me some little while to 
discover that the said Aflatun was not the Greek philosopher 
but a young Zoroastrian in whom she was interested, though 
why a follower of ‘“‘the good Mazdayasnian religion” should 
take to himself a name like this baffles my comprehension. In 
the afternoon I was invaded by visitors. First of all came a 
Beluch chief named Afzal Khan, a picturesque old man with 
long black hair, a ragged moustache, very thin on the upper 
lip and very long at the ends, and a singularly gorgeous coat. 
He was accompanied by two lean and hunery-looking retainers, 
all skin and sword-blade; but though he talked much I had 
some difficulty in understanding him at times, since he spoke 
Persian after the corrupt and vicious fashion prevalent in India. 
He enquired much of England and the English, whom he evi- 
dently regarded with mingled respect and dislike. “Kal‘at-i- 
Nasiri is my city,” he replied, in answer to a question which I 
put to him; “‘three months’ journey from here, or two months 
if your horse be sound, swift, and strong. Khan Khudadad Khan 
is the Amir, if he be not dead, as I have heard men say lately.” 
He further informed me that his language was not Beluichi but 
Brahw’i, which is spoken in a great part of Beluchistan. 

The next visitors to atrive were the postmaster, Ak4 Muham- 
mad Sadik (the young Yezdi merchant of whom I have already 
spoken), and the eldest son of the Prince-Telegraphist. The last 
upbraided me for taking up my abode in the garden instead of 
in the new telegraph-office, which his father had placed at my 
disposal; but his recriminations were cut short by the arrival of 


B 31 


482 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


a Tabrizi merchant, two Zoroastrians, an Ezeli Babi (whom I will 
call Mull4 Yusuf, to distinguish him from my Tabrizi satellite 
Mirz4 Yusuf), who appeared on this occasion as a zealous Musul- 
man, and undertook to convince me on some future occasion 
of the superiority of Islam to Christianity; and a middle-aged man 
of very subdued demeanour (how deceptive may appearances 
be!), dressed in a long jubbé, fez, and small white turban, after 
the manner of Asiatic Turks, to whom, under the pseudonym of 
Sheykh Ibrahim of Sultan-abad, I shall have frequent occasion to 
refer in this and the succeeding chapter. These, in turn, were 
followed by four more Zoroastrians, including Gushtasp, Feri- 
dun, and Rustam, who outstayed the other visitors, and did not 
depart till they had pledged me in wine after the rite of the 
Magians, after which I had supper with N4a’ib Hasan, and sat 
talking with him till nearly midnight. 

Saturday, 8th June, 28th Ramazdn.—tln the morning I visited 
one of the shawl-manufactories of Kirman in company with 
Rustam, Na’ib Hasan, and Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz. Our way lay 
through the street leading to the Mosque Gate, which, by reason 
of the Saturday market (Bézdr-i-Shanba), was thronged with 
people. The shawl-manufactory consisted of one large vaulted 
room containing eleven looms, two or three of which were 
standing idle. At each loom sat three workers, one skilled work- 
man in the middle, and on either side of him a shdgird ot appten- 
tice, whom he was expected to instruct and supervise. There 
were in all twenty-five apprentices, ranging in years from children 
of six and seven to men of mature age. Their wages, as I learned, 
begin at ten tdémdns (about £3) a year, and increase gradually 
to twenty-four or twenty-five timdns (about £7. 1tos.). In 
summer they work from sunrise to sunset, and in winter they 
continue their work by candle-light till three hours after sunset. 
They have a half-holiday on Friday (from mid-day onwards), 
thirteen days’ holiday at the Nawr#z, and one or two days mote 
on the great annual festivals, while for food they get nothing as 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 483 


a tule but dry bread. Poor little Kirmanis! They must toil thus, 
deprived of good air and sunlight, and debarred from the 
recreations and amusements which should brighten their child- 
hood, that some grandee may bedeck himself with those sump- 
tuous shawls, which, beautiful as they are, will evermore seem 
to me to be dyed with the blood of the innocents! The shawls 
manufactured are of very different qualities. The finest, of three 
ot three and a half ells in length, require twelve or fifteen months 
for their completion, and are sold at forty or fifty timdns apiece; 
others, destined for the Constantinople market, and of much 
coarser texture, can be finished in a month or six weeks, and are 
sold for ten or fifteen Ards. Of late, however, the shawl trade 
had been on the decline; and the proprietor of this establishment 
told me that he was thinking of closing his workshops for a year, 
and making a pilgrimage to Kerbela, hoping, I suppose, to win 
by this act of piety the Divine favour, which he would have better 
merited by some attempt to ameliorate the condition of the poor 
little drudges who toiled at his looms. 

I next visited the one fire-temple which suffices for the spiritual 
needs of the Kirman Zoroastrians, and was there received by 
the courteous and intelligent old Dastur and my friend Feridun. 
I could not see the sacred fire, because the wa#bad whose business 
it was to tend it had locked it up and taken the key away with him. 
In general appearance this fire-temple resembled those which I 
had seen at Yezd. I enquired as to the manuscripts of the sacred 
books preserved in the temple, and was shown two: a copy of 
the Avesta of 210 leaves, transcribed in the year A.H. 1086 (A.D. 
1675-6), and completed on “the day of Aban, in the month of 
Bahman, in the year 1044 of Yezdigird,” by the hand of Dastur 
Marzaban, the son of Dastur Bahram, the son of Marzaban, the 
son of Feridun; and a copy of the Yashts, completed by the hand 
of Dastur Isfandiyar, the son of Dastur Nushirvan, the son of 
Dastir Isfandiyar, the son of Dastir Ardashir, the son of 
Dastur Adhar of Sistan, on “the day of Bahman, in the month 


31-2 


484 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


of Isfandarmad, in the year 1108 of Yezdigird,” corresponding 
to A.H. 1226 (A.D. 1811). I found that the Dastir was much 
interested in the occult science of geomancy (‘/m-7-ramal), which, 
he informed me, required the assiduous study of a lifetime ere 
one could hope to attain proficiency. He was also very full 
of a tare old book called the Jdmdsp-ndma, of which he said 
only one copy, stolen by a Musulman named Huseyn from the 
house of a Zoroastrian in Yezd, existed in Kirman, though he 
had information of another copy in the library of the Mosque 
at Mashhad. This book he described as containing a continuous 
series of prophecies, amongst which was included the announce- 
ment of the return of Shah Bahram, the Zoroastrian Messiah, to 
re-establish “the Good Religion.” This Shah Bahram, to whose 
expected advent I have already alluded at p. 432 supra, is believed 
to be a descendant of Hurmuz the son of Yezdigird (the last 
Sasanian king), who fled from before the Arab invaders, with 
Peshtitan and other fire-priests, to China; whence he will return 
to Fars by way of India in the fullness of time. Amongst the signs 
heralding his coming will be a great famine, and the destruction 
of the city of Shushtar. 

In the evening I went for a ride outside the city with Feridun, 
Rustam, and the son of the postmaster. We first visited a neigh- 
bouring garden to see the working of one of the d#/abs generally 
employed in Kirman for raising water to the surface. The d#/ab 
consisted of two large wooden wheels, one set horizontally and 
the other vertically in the jaws of the well, cogged together. A 
blindfolded cow harnessed to a shaft inserted in the axle of the 
former communicated a rotatory motion to the latter, over 
which a belt of rope passed downwards into the well, to a depth 
of about five ells. To this rope earthenware pitchers were 
attached, and each pitcher as it came uppermost on the belt 
emptied its contents into a channel communicating with a small 
reservoir. The whole arrangement was primitive, picturesque, 
and inefficient. 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 485 


From the d#/db we proceeded to the “old town” (shahr-i- 
kadim), situated on the craggy heights lying (if I remember 
rightly) to the west of the present city, and said to date from 
the time of Ardashir-i-Babakan, the founder of the Sdsdnian 
dynasty. There are a number of ruined buildings on these heights, 
including one known as the Kadam-gdh, where vows and offerings 
are made by the Kirmanis. From this place we proceeded to 
another valley, closed to the south by beetling cliffs studded 
with cavernous openings which are said to extend far into the 
rock. High up on the left of this valley is a little building known 
as Darya-Kuli Beg, whither, leaving our horses below, we 
ascended, and there sat for a while drinking wine by the light 
of the setting sun. My companions informed me that formerly 
the mouth of the valley below had been closed by a band or 
dyke, and all the upper part of it converted into a gigantic lake 
whereon boat traces, watched by the king and his court from 
the spot where we sat, took place on certain festal occasions. 

As we rode homewards in the gathering twilight the post- 
master’s son ctaved a boon of me, which I think worth men- 
tioning as illustrative of that strange yearning after martyrdom 
which is not uncommon amongst the Babis. Bringing his horse 
alongside of mine at a moment when the two Zoroastrians were 
engaged in private conversation, he thus addressed me:—“‘ Sahib, 
you intend, as you have told me, to visit Acre. If this great 
happiness be allotted to you, and if you look upon the Blessed 
Beauty (Jemdl-i-Mubdrak, i.e. Beha’u’llah), do not forget me, nor 
the request which I now prefer. Say, if opportunity be granted 
you, “There is such an one in Kirman, so-and-so by name, whose 
chief desire is that his name may be mentioned once in the Holy 
Presence, that he may once (if it be not too much to ask) be 
honouted by an Epistle, and that he may then quaff the draught 
of martyrdom in the way of the Beloved.’” 

Sunday, 9th June, 29th Ramazdn.—To-day I received a demon- 
stration in geomancy (‘/m-i-rama/) from a young Zoroastrian, 


486 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


Bahram-i-Bihriz, whom I met in Mulla Gushtdasp’s room in the 
catavansaray of Ganj-‘Ali Khan. The information about myself 
with which his science supplied him was almost entirely incorrect, 
and was in substance as follows:—‘‘A month ago you received 
bad news, and suffered much through some absent person.... 
Fifteen days ago some physical injury befell you....By the next 
post you will receive good news....In another month you will 
receive very good news.... You ate at present in good health, 
but your caloric is in excess and the bilious humour predomi- 
nates.... Your appetite is bad, and you should take some laxative 
medicine.”’ ‘This is a fair specimen of the kind of answer which 
he who consults the rammd/ (geomancer) is likely to get; but it 1s 
fair to say that Bahram laid claim to no great proficiency in the 
science. However, he promised to introduce me to a Musulman 
who was reputed an adept in the occult sciences, including the 
taskhir-i-jinn, ot command of familiar spirits, and this promise, 
as will presently be set forth, he faithfully kept. 

While Bahram was busy with his geomancy, a dervish boy, 
who afterwards proved to be a Babi, entered the room where 
we were sitting (for the dervish is free to enter any assembly 
and to go wherever it seemeth good to him), and presented me 
with a white flower. I gave him a £rdn, whereupon, at the 
suggestion of one of those present, he sung a ghazal, or ode, in 
a very sweet voice, with a good deal of taste and feeling. 

Later on in the day I visited Mirza Rahim Khan, the Farrash- 
bdshi, and Sheykh Ibrahim of Sultan-4bad, whom I have already 
had occasion to mention. The latter, as I discovered, had, after 
the manner of ka/andars of his type, taken up his abode in the 
house of the former, till such time as he should be tired of his 
host, ot his host of him. Thence I went to the house of the 
Sheykh of Kum, where I met two young artillery officers, brothers, 
one of whom subsequently proved to be an Ezeli Babi. I was 
more than ever impressed with the Sheykh’s genial, kindly 
manner, and wide knowledge. I enquired of him particularly 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 487 


as to the most authentic and esteemed collections of Shi‘ite 
traditions, and he mentioned two, the Mi‘rdju’s-Sa‘ddat (“ Ascent 
of Happiness”’), and a very large and detailed work in fifteen 
ot sixteen volumes, by Jemdélu’d-Din Hasan ibn Yusuf ibn ‘Ali 
of Hilla entitled ‘A//éma (“the Great Doctor’’), called Bipdru’/- 
Anvar (“Oceans of Light”). We then talked for a while about 
metaphysics, and he expressed astonishment at the lack of interest 
in the subject generally prevalent in Europe; after which we 
passed by a natural transition to the doctrines of the Sheykhis 
and Babis, about which he gave me not a little information. It 
had been intended that I should visit the Prince-Governor in 
company with the Sheykh, but the visit was postponed, as the 
Prince sent word that he was indisposed, and wished to sleep. 
In the evening I received another visit from the garrulous 
Haji Muhammad Khan, who seemed to me rather less dis- 
agreeable than on the occasion of his first call. After his departure 
a temporary excitement was caused by the discovery of a theft 
which had been committed in the garden. A Shirazi muleteer, 
who intended shortly to return home by way of Sirjan and Niriz, 
had greatly importuned me to hire his mules for the journey, 
and this I had very foolishly half consented to do. These mules 
were accordingly tied up in the garden near my hotse, and it was 
their coverings which, as the muleteer excitedly informed us, 
had been removed by the thief. The curious thing was that my 
horse’s covetings, which were of considerably more value, had 
not been touched, and I am inclined to believe that the muleteer 
himself was the thief. He caused me trouble enough afterwards; 
for when, owing to the ophthalmia with which I was attacked, 
I was obliged to rescind the bargain, he lodged a complaint 
against the poor gardener, whom he charged with the theft. 
A farrdsh was sent by the vazir to arrest him; whereupon the said 
gardener and his wife, accompanied by the myrmidon of the law, 
came before me wringing their hands, uttering loud lamenta- 
tions, and beseeching me to intercede in their favour. So, 


488 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


though my eyes ached most painfully, I was obliged to write a 
long letter to the vaz7r in Persian, declaring the gardener to be, to 
the best of my belief, an honest and worthy fellow, and request- 
ing, as a personal favour, that he might be subjected to no further 
annoyance. I furthermore took the precaution of promising a 
present of money to the farrdsh when he returned with the 
gatdener, in case the latter had suffered no ill-treatment; and, 
thanks to these measures, I succeeded in delivering him from the 
trouble in which the malice of the muleteer threatened to in- 
volve him; but the effect of the exertion of my eyes in writing 
the letter was to cause a recrudescence of the inflammation, 
which had previously been on the decline. So the muleteer 
had his revenge, which, I suppose, was what he desired and 
intended. 

Monday, 10th June, 30th Ramazadn.—In the morning I visited 
several persons in the town, including two of my Zoroastrian 
friends, Shahriyar and Bahman. The shop of the former was 
crowded with soldiers just home from Jask and Bandar-i-‘Abbas, 
so that conversation was impossible, and I left almost immediately. 
Bahman, on the other hand, had only one visitor, an old seyyid 
named Ak4 Seyyid Huseyn of Jandak, of whom I afterwards 
saw a good deal—in fact rather more than I wished. He con- 
vetsed with me in a very affable manner, chiefly, of course, on 
religious topics, and, amongst other things, narrated to me the 
following curious legend about Christ:— 

“Once upon.a time,” said the Seyyid, “the Lord Jesus (upon 
whom be peace) entered into a certain city. Now, the king of 
that city had forbidden any one of his subjects, on pain of death, 
to shelter Him or supply Him with food; nevertheless, seeing 
a young man of very sorrowful countenance, He craved his 
hospitality, which was at once accorded. After the Lord Jesus 
had supped and rested, He enquired of His host wherefore he 
was so sorrowful, and eventually ascertained that he had fallen 
in love with the king’s daughter. Then said the Lord Jesus, ‘Be 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 489 


of good cheer, thou shalt win her. Go to the king’s palace to- 
morrow, and demand her in marriage, and your proposal will 
not be rejected.’ So the young man, marvelling the while at his 
own audacity, repaired on the morrow to the palace, and de- 
manded to see the king, into whose presence he was presently 
ushered. On hearing his proposal the king said, ‘My daughter 
shall be yours if you can give her a suitable dowry.’ So the 
young man teturned sadly to his home (for he knew that such 
a dowry was far beyond his means) and told the Lord Jesus 
what had passed. Then said the Lord Jesus, “If you will go to 
such-and-such a spot and search there you will find all that you 
need.’ He did so, and found much gold and silver, and many 
precious stones of great worth—diamonds, pearls, rubies, 
emeralds, and the like, beyond all that even the daughter of a 
king could expect or desire. So the king bestowed on him his 
daughter’s hand. But after a time the Lord Jesus bade him leave 
all this and follow Him, and he, knowing now that the Great 
Treasure, compared to which all that he had given as the prin- 
cess’s dowty was as mere worthless dross, was with Christ alone, 
abandoned all for his Mastet’s sake. And indeed, as this legend 
shows, amongst all the prophets there was none who taught 
the ‘Path’ (Tartkat) like the Lord Jesus, and this remains amongst 
you Christians in some measute even now, though the ‘Law’ 
(Shari‘at) which he brought has little by little disappeared before 
Islam, so that no vestige of it is left.”’ 

In the evening I received a visit from some of the leading 
members of the Hindoo community, thirteen or fourteen in 
number, who begged me to let them know if, at any time, 
they could be of service to me in any way. “We owe you this,” 
said they, ‘“‘for it is through the protection of your government 
that we are able to live and carry on our business here in safety 
and security.” Later in the evening I partook of supper with 
several of the Zoroastrians at the d#/db of the elder Gushtasp. 

Tuesday, 11th June, 1st Shawwd/.—tn the morning | had a visit 


490 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


from Rustam, the young Zoroastrian. He told me, amongst 
other things, of the persecutions to which his co-religionists 
were occasionally exposed. “Formerly,” said he, “it would 
often happen that they carried off one of our boys or girls, 
and strove to compel them by threats and torments to become 
Musulmans. Thus on one occasion they seized upon a Zoro- 
asttian boy twelve yeats of age, carried him to the public bath, 
and forced him to utter the Muhammadan profession of faith, 
and to submit to the operation of circumcision. On another 
occasion they abducted two Zoroastrian girls, aged fifteen and 
twenty respectively, and, by every means in their power, strove 
to compel them to embrace the religion of Islam. One of them 
held out against their importunities for a long while, until at 
last they turned her out almost naked into the snow, and she 
was ultimately compelled to submit.” 

In the afternoon I again went into the town to pay some 
visits. I entered it by the Derwdzé-i-Gabr, to the east of the 
Derwdzé-i-Ndsiriyyé, and visited an old mosque situated near 
to that gate. This mosque had, as I was informed, been wilfully 
destroyed by a former governor of the city, but it still showed 
traces of its ancient splendour. After visiting the Hindoos and 
some of my Zoroastrian friends, I proceeded to the house of 
the Sheykh of Kum, with whom, as it had been arranged, I was 
to pay my tespects to the Prince-Governor. After drinking tea 
we accordingly repaired to the Bdgh-i-Nasiriyyé, which is situated 
near to the gate of the same name. On the arrival of Prince 
Nasiru’d-Dawla we were conducted to an upper chamber, where 
he received me in the kindliest and most friendly manner. He 
talked to me chiefly about the condition of Beluchistan (which, 
as well as Kirman, was under his government), and declared that 
a vety notable improvement had taken place during the last few 
years. I then presented my letter of recommendation from 
Prince ‘Imadu’d-Dawla of Yezd, and took occasion to mention 
the forlorn condition of Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz, and his hope 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 491 


that the shadow of the Royal Protection might not be withheld 
from him, and that he might aspire to be numbered amongst 
the Prince’s servants. 

In the evening I was again entertained at supper by one 
of my Zoroastrian friends named Shahriyar. All the other 
guests were of “the good religion” save myself, Na’ib Hasan 
(who still continued to accompany me everywhere, and to con- 
sider himself as invited to every feast whereunto I was bidden), 
and a singer named Faraju’llah, who had been summoned for 
our entertainment. 

Wednesday, 12th June, 2nd Shawwal—Towatds evening 1 was 
visited by the Beluch chief, Afzal Khan, and his son; Seyyid 
Huseyn of Jandak; the Sheykh of Kum, and his friend the 
young Babi gunner; and Mulla Yusuf the Ezeli. Between the 
last and Seyyid Huseyn a violent dispute arose touching the 
merits and demerits of the first three caliphs (so called), ‘Omar, 
Abu Bekr, and ‘Othman, whereby the other visitors were so 
wearied that they shortly departed, and finally the Seyyid was 
left in undisputed possession of the field, which he did not 
abandon till he had prayed the prayers of sundown (maghrib) 
and nightfall (‘ashd@), and explained to me at length the signifi- 
cance of their various component parts, adding that if I would 
remain in Kirman for one month he would put me in possession 
of all the essentials of Isl4m. Nda’ib Hasan and Feriduin had 
supper with me in the chdr-fas/, or summet-house, on the roof 
of which I sat late with the latter, and finally fell asleep, with 
the song of a nightingale, sweet-voiced as Israfil, ringing in my 
ears. 

Thursday, 13th June, 3rd Shawwdl—tIn the morning, while 
walking in the bazaars, I met Afzal Khan, the Beltich, with his 
ragged and hungry-looking retainers. He invited me to return 
with him to his lodging, situated near the Derwdzé-i-Rig-dbdd, 
and I, having nothing else to do, and not wishing to offend 
him, accepted his invitation. On our arrival there he insisted, 


492 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


notwithstanding my earnest protests, on sending out for sherbets 
and sweetmeats wherewith to do me honour, and he put me 
to further shame by continued apologies for the unfurnished 
condition of his abode and the humble character of his enter- 
tainment, repeating again and again that he was “only a poor 
Beltich.” Presently he got on the subject of his wrongs. The 
English Government, so he declared, had taken into their 
service one of his relatives, who had forthwith made use of his 
new privileges to dispossess him of all his property, and, gene- 
rally speaking, to make his life a burden to him. He had therefore 
come to Kirmd4n to seek employment from Prince Nasiru’d- 
Dawla. “If he will not help me,” concluded Afzal Khan, “I 
intend to go to Mashhad and seek assistance from the English 
officials residing there; and if they will do nothing for me, 
I will place my services at the disposal of the Russians.” Shortly 
afterwards I rose to go, alleging, when Afzal Khan pressed me 
to stay, that I had letters to write. “What letters?” he enquired 
suspiciously. “Oh,” I answered carelessly, “‘letters of all sorts, 
to Yezd, to Shiraz, and” (this, though true, was not said altogether 
without mischievous intent) “to Mashhad.” Then Afzal Khan, 
as I had anticipated, became very perturbed, and anxiously 
inquired what acquaintances I had at Mashhad, evidently sup- 
posing that I intended to inform the English representatives 
there of his intentions, so that they might intercept him in case 
he should attempt to reach Russian territory. But, indeed, the 
poor fellow’s services, on which he evidently set a high value, 
were not likely to be accounted as of much value by anyone else 
—Persian, English, or Russian. 

In the afternoon I visited Mulla Yusuf the Ezeli, who, though 
he talked about nothing else than religion, confined himself, 
much to my disappointment, to the Muhammadan dispensation. 
He admitted my contention that by many paths men may attain 
to a knowledge of God, and that salvation was not for the votaries 
of one religion only, but maintained that, though all roads led 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 493 


to the same goal, some were safe, short, and sure, and others 
circuitous and perilous, “wherefore,” said he, “it behoves us to 
seek the shortest and safest way, whereby we may most speedily, 
and with least danger, attain the desired haven.’ We hada good 
deal of discussion, too, about the code of laws established by 
Muhammad, some of which (as, for example, the punishment of 
theft by amputation of the hand) I condemned as barbarous and 
irrational. To this he replied by arguing that the 4x talionis was 
intended merely to fix the extreme limit of punishment which 
could be inflicted on an offender, and that forgiveness was as 
highly extolled by the Muhammadan as by the Christian religion. 
This discussion lasted so long that on reaching the gate on my 
homeward way I found it shut, and was obliged to creep through 
a hole in the city wall known to the cunning Na’ib Hasan. 
Friday, 14th June, 4th Shawwdl—This afternoon Mulla Yusuf 
the Ezeli and one of his friends came to visit me and continue 
the discussion of yesterday. They talked much about Reason, 
and the Universal Intelligence, which, according to the words 
“ Anwalu md khalaka’ llabwl- Akl,’ was the first Creation or 
Emanation of God, and which, at diverse times and in diverse 
manners, has spoken to mankind through the mouth of the 
prophets. Reason, said they, is of four kinds; ‘ak/ bi’/-kuwwa 
(“Potential Reason,” such as exists in an untaught child); “ak/ 
bi’/-fi'l (“ Actual” or “Effective Reason,” such as belongs to 
those of cultivated intelligence); ‘ak/ bi’/-malaka (“Habitual 
Reason,” such as the angels enjoy); and ‘ak/-i-mustakfi (“ All- 
sufficing Reason’’). This last is identical with the “First In- 
telligence”’ (‘ak/-i-awwal), ot “Universal Reason” (‘ak/i-kullt), 
which inspires the prophets, and, indeed, becomes incarnate in 
them, so that by it they have knowledge of all things—that 1s, 
of their essences, not of the technical terms which in the eyes of 
men constitute an integral part of science. Whosoever is en- 
dowed with this “All-sufficing Reason,” and claims to be a 
prophet, must be accepted as such; but unless he chooses to 


494 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


advance this claim, men ate not obliged to accord him this rank. 
Next in rank to the prophet (ab?) is the saint (va), whose 
essential characteristic is a love for God which makes him ready 
to lay down his life willingly and joyfully for His sake. The love 
of the va// is such that by it he often becomes insensible to pain. 
Thus it is related of ‘Ali b. Abi Talib, the first Imam, that he 
was once wounded in the foot by an arrow. Attempts made to 
extract it only resulted in detaching the shaft from the barb, 
which remained in the wound, and caused so much pain that it 
seemed impossible for ‘Ali to endure any further operation. Then 
said one of his sons, “‘ Wait till the time for prayer comes round, 
for when my father is engaged in prayer he becomes unconscious 
of all earthly things, being wholly absorbed in communion with 
God, and you can then extract the arrow-head without his so 
much as feeling it.” And this they did with complete success. 

Mulla Yusuf told me another anecdote about ‘Ali, which, 
though it 1s well-known to students of Arabic history’, will 
bear repetition. He had overthrown an infidel foe, and, kneeling 
on his prostrate body, was about to despatch him with his sword, 
when the fallen unbeliever spat in his face. Thereupon ‘Ali at 
once relinquished his hold on his adversary, rose to his feet, and 
sheathed his sword. On being asked the teason of this, he 
replied, ““When he spat in my face I was filled with anger against 
him, and I feared that, should I kill him, personal indignation 
would partially actuate me; wherefore I let him go, since I would 
not kill him otherwise than from a sincere and unmixed desire 
to serve God.” 

At this point our conversation was interrupted by the arrival 
of Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz accompanied by one of the Prince’s 
servants, who in turn were followed by Feridtn and Na’ib Hasan. 
The two last and Mirza Yusuf remained to drink wine after the 
others had gone; and Mirza Yusuf, who was in a boastful 
humour, began to say, “If you wish to know anything about 


1 See, for instance, e/-Fakbhri (ed. Ahlwardt), p. 54. 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 495 


the Babis, I am the man to tell you, for I knew all their chief 
men at Yezd, and, indeed, professed myself a convert to their 
doctrines so as to gain their confidence. They gave me some of 
their books to read, including one* wherein the reader was 
addressed in such wotds as ‘O child of Earth,’ “O child of my 
handmaid,’ and the like.” And in fact Mirza Yusuf had suc- 
ceeded in finding out a good deal about the Babis, though his 
information was in some matters erroneous. He declared, for 
instance, that Kurratu’l-“Ayn was put to death by being cast 
from the summit of the Citadel (Arg) at Tabriz, but that the first 
time she was launched into the air she was so buoyed up by her 
clothes that she escaped all hurt”. My last visitor was Seyyid 
Hasan of Jandak, whose arrival caused the other guests to conceal 
the wine, and, at the earliest possible opportunity, to depart. 
He was in a captious frame of mind, finding fault with the news- 
paper Akhtar (of which the Sheykh of Kum had sent me a 
recent issue) for talking about the Zillu’s-Sultan’s “‘resignation”’ 
(tsti‘fd), instead of calling it, in plain Persian, his dismissal (“az/), 
and taking exception to sundry idioms and expressions in a 
letter from the Prince-Governor of Yezd, which, at his request, 
I allowed him to read. 

Saturday, 15th June, 5th Shawwdl—To-day, wwhilé I was sitting 
in the shop of a merchant of my acquaintance, Haji ‘Abdu’llah 
of Shiraz, Bahram-i-Bihruz hurried up to inform me that his 
friend the magician, Haji Mirza Muhsin, the controller of spirits 
and genies, was at that moment in his shop, and that if I would 
come thither he would present me to him. I wished to go at 


t The book entitled Kalimdt-i-maknuna-i-Fdtima (“Hidden Words of 
Fatima”’) is intended. See for a description of this book my Catalogue of 
Twenty-seven Babi MSS. in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for 1892, 

. 671-5. 
ae Mirza Yusuf had evidently mixed together a real fact—the Bab’s martyr- 
dom in the square of the citadel at Tabriz—and a story referring to the 
miraculous escape of a woman cast from its summit, which story has been 
already referred to at p. 64, supra. 


496 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


once, but Haji ‘Abdu’ll4h and Na’ib Hasan strove to detain me, 
and while we wete engaged in discussion the magician passed 
by the shop in person. Haji ‘Abdu’ll4h invited him to enter, 
which he at first declined to do, and made as though he would 
pass on; but suddenly changing his mind he turned back, entered 
the shop, and seated himself amongst us. 

“This Sahib,” said Na@’ib Hasan, as soon as the customary 
gteetings had been interchanged, “‘has heard of your skill in 
the occult sciences, and desires to witness a specimen of the 
powers with which you are credited.” 

“What would it profit him?” replied the magician; and then, 
turning to me, “Is your motive in desiring to witness an ex- 
hibition of my powers a mere idle curiosity? Or is it that you 
seek to understand the science by means of which I can produce 
effects beyond the power or comprehension of your learned 
men?” 

“Sir,” I answered, “my object in making this request 1s, 
in the first instance, to obtain ocular evidence of the existence 
of powers generally denied by our men of learning, but which 
I, in the absence of any sufficient evidence, presume neither to 
deny nor to affirm. If, having given me such evidence of their 
existence as I desire, you will further condescend to acquaint 
me with some of the principles of your science, I need not say 
that my gratitude will be increased. But even to be convinced 
that such powers exist would be a great gain.” 

“You have spoken well,” said the magician with approval, 
“and I am willing to prove to you the reality of that science 
concerning which you doubt. But first of all let me tell you 
that all that I can accomplish I do by virtue of powers centred in 
myself, not, as men affirm, by the instrumentality of the inn, 
which, indeed, are mere creatures of the imagination, and have 
no teal existence. Has any one of you a comb?” 

Haji ‘Abdu’llah at once produced a comb from the recesses 
of his pocket, and handed it to Haji Muhsin, who threw it on 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 497 


the ground at a distance of about three feet from him to the left. 
Then he again turned to me, and said— 

“Are your men of learning acquainted with any force inherent 
in the human body whereby motion may be communicated, 
without touch, to a distant object?” 

“No,” I replied, “‘apart from the power of attraction latent 
in amber, the magnet, and some other substances, we know of 
no such force; certainly not in the human body.” 

“Very well,” said he, “then if I can make this comb come 
to me from the spot where it lies, you will have to admit that 
I possess a power whereof your learned men do not even know 
the existence. That the distance is in this case small, and the 
object light and easily movable, is nothing, and does not in 
the least degree weaken the force of the proof. I could equally 
transport you from the garden where you live to any place which 
I chose. Now look.” 

_ Then he moistened the tip of his Biot with his tongue, 
leaned over to the left, and touched the comb once, after which 
he resumed his former position, beckoned to the comb with the 
fingers of his left hand, and called “‘Bi-yd, bi-yd” (Come! 
come!”’). Thereat, to my surprise, the comb spun rapidly round 
once or twice, and then began to advance towards him in little 
leaps, he continuing the while to beckon it onwards with the 
fingers of his left hand, which he did not otherwise move. So 
far one might have supposed that when he touched the comb 
with his moistened finger-tip he had attached to it a fine hair 
or strand of silk, by which, while appearing but to beckon with 
his fingers, he dexterously managed to draw the comb towards 
him. But now, as the comb approached within eighteen inches 
or so of his body, he extended his left hand beyond it, continuing 
to call and beckon as before; so that for the remainder of its 
course it was teceding from the hand, always with the same 
jerky, spasmodic motion. 

- Haji Muhsin now returned the comb to its owner, and 


B 32 


498 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


requested me for the loan of my watch. I handed to him the 
clumsy, china-backed watch which I had bought at Teheran to 
teplace the one which I had lost between Erzeroum and Tabriz, 
and he did with it as he had done with the comb, save that, 
when he began to call and beckon to it, it made one rapid 
gytation and a short leap towards him, and then stopped. He 
picked it up, looked closely at it, and returned it to me, saying, 
“There is something amiss with this watch of yours; it seems to 
me that it is stolen property.” 

“Well,” I replied rather tartly, “‘I did not steal it at any rate; 
I bought it in Teheran for three tamdns to replace my own watch, 
which I lost in Turkey. How it came into the hands of him from 
whom I bought it I cannot, of course, say.” 

After this the magician became very friendly with me, pro- 
mising to visit me in my lodging and show me feats far more 
marvellous than what I had just witnessed. “You shall select 
any object you choose,” said he, “and bury it wherever you 
please in your garden, so that none but yourself shall know 
where it is hidden. I will then come and pronounce certain 
incantations over a brass cup, which will then lead me 
direct to the place where the object is buried.” Hearing that 
I was to visit the vaxyir of Kirman, he insisted on accom- 
panying me. | | 

The vayir was a courteous old man of very kindly countenance 
and gentle manners, and I stayed conversing with him for more 
than half an hour. A number of persons were present, including 
the kaldntar, ot mayor, whose servant had that morning received 
a severe application of the bastinado for having struck the ked- 
khudd, ot chief man, of a village to which he had been sent to 
collect taxes or rents. Haji Mirz4 Muhsin, who lacked nothing 
so little as assurance, gave the vazér a sort of lecture on me (as 
though I were a curious specimen), which he concluded, some- 
what to my consternation, by declaring that he intended to 
accompany me back to my own country, and to enlighten the 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 499 


ignorance of its learned men as to the occult sciences, of which 
he was a mastet. 

On leaving the vazir’s presence, I accompanied the magician 
to his lodging, and was introduced to his brother, a fine-looking 
man of middle age, dressed after the fashion of the Baghdadis 
in jubbé, fez, and white turban, who spoke both Arabic and 
Ottoman Turkish with fluency. There were also present a 
number of children, belonging, as I gathered, to Haji Mirza 
Muhsin, who was still mourning a domestic tragedy which had 
recently led to the death of his eldest son, a lad of sixteen. 
“Ah, you should have seen him,” he said, “such a handsome 
boy, and so quick and clever. None of my other children can 
compare with him.” He did not acquaint me with the details 
of his son’s untimely death, which, according to Na@’ib Hasan, 
were as follows:—One of Mirza Muhsin’s servants, or disciples, 
had a very beautiful wife, with whom his son fell madly in 
love. Mirza Muhsin, on being informed by the boy of his - 
passion, promised to induce the girl’s husband to free her by 
divorce. In this he succeeded, but, instead of bestowing her 
hand on his son, he married her himself. The lad remonstrated 
vehemently with his father, who only replied, “It was for my 
sake, not yours, that her former husband divorced her.” There- 
upon the boy, in an access of passionate disappointment, shot 
himself through the head two stages out from Kirman, whither 
they were then journeying from Sirjan. 

Sunday, 16th June, 6th Shawwdl—To-day I was invited to take 
my mid-day meal (wahdr) with the postmaster. On my way 
thither I encountered, near the Derwdzé-7-Masjid, one of my Zoro- 
astrian friends, Key-Khosraw, who informed me with some 
excitement that two “Firangis” had just arrived in Kirman. 
“Come and talk to them,” he added, “‘for they are now in the 
street a little farther on.” I accordingly followed him, though 
with no great alacrity, for I enjoyed the feeling of being the only 
European in Kirman, and had no wish to spoil the unmixedly 


32-2 


500 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


Persian character of my environment by forming an acquaintance 
with two promiscuous Europeans, who might very likely, I 
thought, be mere adventurers, and whose presence I was in- 
clined to resent. We soon found one of the newcomers, a little 
eray-bearded Frenchman, who was very reticent as to his object 
in visiting Kirman, and told me no more than that his com- 
panion (also French) spoke English much better than himself 
(which I could readily believe, for his pronunciation was vile, 
and his vocabulary most meagre), and that they had come from 
Turkistan (Bukhar4 and Samarkand) by way of Mashhad, and 
thence through the deserts, by way of Tun and Tabas, to Kirman. 
He then went on to enquire with some eagerness whether there 
were in the town any cafés or wine-shops (wine-shops in Kir- 
man!), and seemed much disconcerted when he heard that there 
were not. I soon left him, and proceeded to the postmaster’s 
house. 

There I found one Mirza Muhammad Khan, of the Shah 
Ni‘matu’llahi order of dervishes; Sheykh Ibrahim of Sultan-abad; 
and another, a parcher of peas (xokbud-biriz) by profession, 
whom, as I shall have to say a good deal about him before I 
bid farewell to Kitman, and as I do not wish to mention his real 
name, I will call Usta Akbar. Till lunch-time we sat in the 
tanbal-khdné (“idler’s toom” or drawing-room), smoking ka/ydns 
and conversing on general topics, including, of course, religion. 
The postmaster told me that he had a book wherein the truth 
of each dispensation, down to the present one (or Babi “‘ Mani- 
festation”’), was proved by that which preceded it; and this book 
he promised to lend me so soon as it was returned to him by a 
Zoroastrian in whose hands it then was. I asked him about the 
signs which should herald the “‘ Manifestation” of the “End of 
Time,” and he said that amongst them were the following:— 
That men should ride on iron horses; that they should talk with 
one another from great distances; that they should talk on their 
fingers; and that men should wear women’s clothes and women 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 501 


men’s; “‘of which signs,” he added, “‘you will observe that the 
first clearly indicates the railroad, the second the telephone, and 
the third the telegraph; so that nothing is wanting to apprise 
men of the advent of the Most Great Theophany.” I enquired 
of him, as I had previously enquired of the Sheykh of Kum, as 
to the best and most authentic collections of Shi‘ite traditions, 
and he mentioned with especial commendation the Us#/-i-Kdf7, 
the Rawza-i-Kdf7, and the Man ld yahzuri of Fakih. 

After lunch most of the guests indulged in a nap, but the 
patcher of peas came and talked to me for a while in a very wild 
strain, with which I subsequently became only too familiar. “If 
you would see Adam,” he said, “I am Adam; if Noah, I am 
Noah; if Abraham, I am Abraham; if Moses, I am Moses; if 
Christ, lo, I am Christ.” “Why do you not say at once ‘I am 
God’?”’ I retorted. “Yes,” he replied, “‘there is naught but He.” 
I tried to ascertain his views as to the future of the human soul, 
but could extract from him no very satisfactory answer. “As 
~ one candle is lit from another,” he said, “‘so is life kindled from 
life. If the second candle should say, ‘I am the first candle,’ it 
speaks truly, for, in essence, it is indeed that first candle which 
has thrust forth its head from another garment.” 

Presently we wete interrupted by the arrival of visitors, the 
officious and meddlesome Haji Muhammad Khan, and the Mulla- 
bashi. As soon as the customary forms of politeness had been 
gone through, the latter turned to me, saying— 

“Sahib, what is all this that we hear about you and Haji 
Mirza Muhsin the magician? Is it true?” 

“Tf you would kindly tell me what you have heard,” I replied, 
““T should be better able to answer your question.” 

“Well,” he answered, “Haji Mirza Muhsin is telling every- 
one that you, being skilled in the Magic of the West, had chal- 
lenged him to a contest; that you gave what proofs you could 
of your power, and he of his; but that he wrought marvels 
beyond your power, and, amongst other things, wrote a few lines 


502 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


on a piece of paper, burned it before your eyes, and then drew it 
out from your pocket. That thereupon you had said that if he 
could summon the spirit of your father and cause it to converse 
with you in the French language, you would embrace the religion 
of Islam; and that he had done what you demanded. Is this true? 
and are you really going to become a Musulman?”’ 

“Really,” I replied, “I am not; and, were I disposed to do so, 
Haji Muhsin (whom, after what you have told me, I must regard 
as a liar of quite exceptional attainments) is not exactly the sort 
of person who would effect my conversion. As for his story, 
every word of it is false; all that actually happened was this” 
(here I described our meeting in Haji Shirazi’s shop). “Further- 
more, my father, by the grace of God, is alive and in good health; 
neither do I see why, in any case, he should address me in 
French, since my language and his is English.” 

On returning to the garden I found Afzal Khan the Belich 
and his retainers, Mulla Gushtdsp, and Aka Seyyid Huseyn of 
Jandak, awaiting my arrival. The first, somewhat overpowered 
by the Seyyid’s theology, probably, left very soon; but the 
Seyyid, as usual, stayed a long while and talked a great deal. He 
first of all produced a small treatise on physiognomy (‘/m-i- 
kiydfa), of which he declared himself to be the author, and 
proceeded to apply the principles therein laid down to me. “You 
have a long arm and long fingers,” said he, ““which shows that 
you are determined to wield authority and to exercise supremacy 
over your fellows, also that you take care that whatever work you 
do shall be sound and thorough.” He next produced a collection 
of aphorisms which he had written out for me, of which the only 
one I remember ts, “Eat the bread of no man, and withhold 
thine own bread from none.” He then dictated to me four 
questions connected with religion, which he wished me to copy 
out on four separate pieces of paper, and send to the Prince- 
Governor, with a letter requesting him to submit them to four 
learned theologians (whom he named), and to require them to 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 503 


give an immediate answer, without consulting together or taking 
time to reflect. “You will see,” the Seyyid remarked, with an 
anticipatory chuckle, “‘that they will all give different answers, 
and all wrong, so that the Prince will recognise the inadequacy 
of their learning.” I only remember one of these questions, 
which ran as follows: “Which of the four gospels now in the 
hands of the Christians is the Inv7// mentioned in the Kur’4n?” 
While we were engaged in this conversation, the proprietor 
of the garden, Mirz4 Jawad, son of Aka Seyyid Rahim, the 
late vayir of Kirman, was announced. He was a portly, 
pleasant-looking man of about forty-five or fifty, and was 
accompanied by his son, a very beautiful boy of unusually 
fair complexion, with dark-blue eyes, and long eyebrows and 
eyelashes, rendered even mote conspicuous than they would 
naturally have been by a liberal application of surma (antimony). 
The Seyyid, however, did not allow their presence long to in- 
terrupt the unceasing stream of his eloquence, and began to 
catechise me about the gospels, asserting that the very fact of 
there being four proved that they were spurious, and that the 
true gospel had disappeared from the earth. He then enquired 
whether wine was lawful according to our law. I replied that 
it was, inasmuch as we knew that Christ Himself tasted wine on 
several occasions. “I take refuge with God!” cried the Seyyid; 
“it isa calumny: this alone is sufficient to prove that your gospels 
ate spurious, for none of the prophets have ever drunk wine.” 
“Well,” I said, “I do not quite see your object in trying to dis- 
prove the genuineness of our gospels. I imagine that you wish 
to convince me of the truth of Islam, but please to remember 
that if you could succeed in convincing me that the gospels 
now in our hands are forgeries, you having no other and genuine 
gospel to put in their place, you would be no nearer converting 
me to Islam, but rather further from it than at present. You 
would either make me disbelieve in revealed religion altogether, 
or you would drive me back on the Pentateuch and make me 


504 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


a Jew.” “There is something in that,” replied the Seyyid, “and 
I am now disposed to understand the matter in a different way. 
The word shardb originally means any kind of drink, since the 
vetb shariba, from which it is derived, is employed in a perfectly 
general sense. Your priests have not understood this, and have 
wrongly explained it as wine. The very miracle which you adduce 
as evidence proves my point, for you say that the attendants at 
the wedding feast were bidden to fill the jars with water. It 1s. 
quite clear that what Christ wished to show was, that water was 
the best and most exhilarating of drinks, and that it was lawful, 
not unlawful, like wine.” The little boy seemed to take the 
liveliest interest in this discussion, and kept whispering sug- 
gestions to the Seyyid, for he, like his father, was imbued with 
the ideas of the Sheykhis, and was evidently not unwilling to 
make a display of his knowledge. 

The Seyyid outstayed the other visitors, and, squatting down 
by the little stream, proceeded to give me much advice (a thing 
whereof he was ever prodigal), mingled with hints and warnings 
which I was for some time unable to comprehend. 

“Don’t cultivate the acquaintance of so-and-so” (mentioning 
one of my Babi friends) “too much,” he began, “and don’t visit 
his house more than you can help. The Prince doesn’t like him.” 

“Why -doesn’t he like hime” I enquired. __ 

“The Prince hada very beautiful wife called Panba (‘Cotton’),” 
rejoined the Seyyid, “‘and one day in a fit of temper he said to 
her, “Go to your father’s house,’ but without explicitly divorcing 
her. Your friend Mirza —— lived next door to her father, saw 
her, was smitten with her charms, and took her in marriage; 
and when the Prince (who soon repented of his hasty conduct) 
desired to take her back, he found that she was the wife of 
another. Naturally he was greatly incensed with Mirz4 ——.” 

“Naturally,” I said, “but he would hardly be incensed with 
me for visiting him.” 

“You don’t understand my point,” said the Seyyid. “The 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 505 


people of Kirman are the greatest gossips and scandal-mongers 
under the sun; and the people of Kirman will say that you go 
there to see Panba, who is the most beautiful woman in the 


city.” 
“What nonsense!”’ I exclaimed, “why, I never even heard 
of Panba till this moment, and when I go to see Mirza —— I 


am naturally not introduced to his wives.” 

““Never you mind that,” said he; “take my advice and keep 
away from his house. You can’t be too careful here. You don’t 
know what the Kirmanis are like. It was a most fortunate thing 
that Mirza Jawad found me here when he came to see you.” 

“Tt was very nice for him,” I replied, “no doubt. But why 
so specially fortunate?” 

“Because,” answered he, “seeing that I am your friend and 
associate, and hearing our improving conversation, he will 
think the better of you, and will be the slower to credit any 
slanders against you which he may hear.” 

“Tam not aware,” said I, “that I have given any occasion for 
slander.” 

“Perhaps you do not know what people say about your 
servant Haji Safat’s szgha?”’ returned he. . 

“What do you mean?” I demanded sharply; “I was not 
awate that he had a sigha.”’ 

The Seyyid laughed—a little, unpleasant, incredulous laugh. 
“Really?” said he; “that is very curious. I should have sup- 
posed that he would have consulted you first. Anyhow, there 
is no doubt about the matter, for I drew up the contract myself. 
And men say that the sigha, though taken in his name, was really 
intended for you.” 

Here I must explain what a ségha is1. A Shi‘ite may, according 
to his law, contract a temporary marriage with a woman of his 


1 For fuller details see Querry’s Droit Musulman (Paris, 1871), vol. i, 
pp. 689-695, from which admirable compendium of Shi‘ite law I have drawn 
several of the particulars given in the text. 


506 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


own, ot of the Jewish, Christian, or (though some contest this) 
Magian faith, for a fixed period of time, which may vary from 
a fraction of a day to a year or several years. Properly speaking, 
it is the contract drawn up by the officiating mu//d (in which 
both the period of duration of the marriage, and the amount of 
the dowty—though this last may be no more than a handful of 
barley—must be specified), which is called the szgha, but the term 
is commonly applied to the woman with whom such marriage 
is contracted. This species of marriage (if it can be dignified by 
this name), though held in very proper detestation by Sunnite 
Muhammadans, is regarded by the Shi‘ites as perfectly legal, 
and children resulting from it are held to be lawful offspring. 
Though prevalent to some extent throughout Persia, it flourishes 
with especial vigour in Kirman, where, owing to the great 
poverty of the people, the small dowry bestowed on the sigha 
induces many parents to seek for their daughters such engage- 
ment. Bad as this institution is at the best, the mu//ds, by one 
of those unrighteous legal quibbles of which they are so fond, 
have succeeded in making it yet more abominable. According 
to the law, a sigha, on completing the contracted period, must, 
before going to another husband, wait for forty-five days or 
two months to ascertain whether or no she 1s with child by the 
former husband. This, however, only applies to cases where the 
martiage has been actually consummated. So, as many of these 
women are practically sighas by trade, and do not wish to be 
subjected to this period of probation, the mu/ids have devised 
the following means of evading the law. When the contracted 
period of marriage has come to an end, the man makes a fresh 
contract with the woman for another very short period; this 
second (purely nominal) marriage, being with the same man as 
the first, is legal without any intervening period of probation, 
and is not consummated; so that, on its expiration, the woman 
is free to marry another man as soon as she pleases. 

The Seyyid’s hints, whether intended maliciously or prompted 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 507 


by a friendly feeling, caused me a good deal of disquietude; for, 
absurd and false as the slander was, I clearly saw that if it gained 
the credence of the vulgar it might become a source of actual 
peril. Haji Safar, who made no attempt to exculpate himself, 
was of the same opinion, and entreated me to leave Kirman 
as soon as possible. “‘Sahib,” he concluded, “‘you do not know 
the malice and mischief of which these accursed Kirmanis are 
capable; if we stay here much longer they will find some pretext 
for killing us both.” 

“Nonsense,” I said, “they are a quiet, peaceable, down- 
trodden folk, these same Kirmanis, though over-fond of idle 
tattle. Besides you know what Sheykh Sa‘di says—‘dn-rd ki 
bisdb pak-ast ax mubdsabé ché bak-ast?’? (“To him whose account 
is clean what fear is there of the reckoning?’) But in future I 
hope that you will be careful to avoid doing anything which 
may compromise my good name. I have no wish to interfere 
either with your religion, or with such indulgences as are accorded 
to you by it, but I have a right to expect that you will avoid 
anything which is liable to discredit my character.” And so the 
matter dropped, the quotation from Sa‘di being mote effective 
(as quotations from Sa‘di or Hafiz always are with a Persian) 
than any quantity of argument. 

I have had occasion to allude to the unrighteous quibbles 
whereby the mullds, while keeping the letter, contravene the 
spirit of the law; and I may here add an instance (which was 
related to me to-day by one of my Babi friends) of the gross 
ignorance which sometimes characterises their decisions. A 
cettain man in Kirman, wishing to expose this ignorance, ad- 
dressed the following question to a distinguished member of 
the local clergy. “I agreed with a labourer,” said he, “to dig 
in my garden a hole one yard square for eight krdus: he has 
dug a hole half a yard square. How much should I pay him?” 
“Half the sum agreed upon, of course,” said the mulld, “that 
is to say four krdns.” After thinking for a while, however, he 


508 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


cottected himself: “two &rdus is the sum which you legally 
owe him,” he declared; and this decision he committed to 
writing and sealed with his seal. Then the enquirer demon- 
strated to him that the labour required to excavate a hole 
measuring half a yard in each direction was only an eighth part 
of that needed for the excavation of one measuring a yard in 
each direction. This conclusion the cleric resisted as long as he - 
could, but, being at length compelled to admit its justice, he 
got out of the difficulty by declaring that, though mathematically 
the labourer could only claim one &rdn, his /ega/ due was two 
krans. 

Monday, 17th June, 7th Shawwal—This afternoon I visited a 
young secretary of the Prince’s with whom I had become ac- 
quainted, and found him with the son of the Prince-Telegraphist, 
Mulla Yusuf, and other congenial friends (all, or nearly all, 
Ezeli Babis) sitting round a little tank which occupied the centre 
of the toom, and smoking optum. The discussion, as usual, 
turned on teligion, and Mulla Yusuf gave me some further 
instances of the quibbles whereby the Shi‘ite clergy and their 
followers have made the law of no effect. “‘ There are,” said he, 
“six obligations incumbent on every Musulman, to wit, Prayer 
(saldt), Fasting (siydm), Pilgrimage (hajj), Tithes (khums), Alms 
(vakdt), and, under certain circumstances, Religious Warfare 
(jihdd). Of these six, the last three have practically become null 
and void. Of Religious War they are afraid, because the infidels 
have waxed strong, and because they remember the disastrous 
results which attended their more recent enterprises of this sort!. 
As for the Tithes (Ahums, literally ‘fifths’), they should be paid 
to poor Seyyids or descendants of the Prophet. And how do 
you suppose they manage to save their money and salve their 
consciences at the same time? Why, they place the amount 
of the money which they ought to give in a jar and pour treacle 
(shiré) over it; then they offer this jar to a poor Seyyid (without, 


1 See my Traveller’s Narrative, vol. ii, pp. 118-119, and n. 3, on the former. 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 509 


of course, letting him know about the money which it contains), 
and, when he has accepted it, buy it back from him for two or 
three krdns! Or else they offer him one témdn on condition that 
he signs a receipt for fifty.” I turned these admissions against 
Mull4 Yusuf when he began to argue for the superiority of Islam 
over Christianity. ““You yourself,” I said, “declare that the 
essential characteristic of the prophetic word is that it has power 
to control men’s hearts; and as you have just told me that out 
of six things which Muhammad made binding on his followers, 
three have become of none effect, you cannot wonder if | 
question the proof of Islam by your own criterion. God knows 
that the mass of professing Christians are very far from putting 
into constant practice all the commands laid upon them by Him 
whom they profess to follow; but I should be sorry to think 
that His precepts and example had as little effect on my country- 
men as those of Muhammad, on your own showing, seem to 
have on yours.” 

On returning to the garden I found a note from the officious 
Haji Muhammad Khan, enquiring whether I had learned any- 
thing more about the two Frenchmen who had arrived in 
Kirman. He had also left with Haji Safar a verbal message 
asking for some brandy, which message, by reason of Seyyid 
Huseyn’s presence, Haji Safar communicated to me in Turkish. 
“Don’t attempt to conceal anything from me,” exclaimed the 
Seyyid, “‘by talking a foreign language, for I perfectly under- 
stand what you are talking about.” This, however, was, as | 
believe, a mere idle boast. 

From Mulla Yusuf I to-day obtained a more circumstantial 
account than I had yet heard of an event which some time ago 
created a good deal of excitement in Kirman, especially amongst 
the Babis. A lad of fifteen, the son of an architect in the city, 
who had been brought up in the doctrines of the Sheykhis, 
turned Babi, and, inspired by that reckless zeal which is the 
especial characteristic of the “people of the Beyan,” repaired to 


510 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


Langar, the headquarters of the Sheykhis and the residence of 
the sons of Haji Muhammad Karim Khan, and there publicly 
addressed the assembled Sheykhis on the signs of the Manifesta- 
tion of the Imam Mahdi and the general theory of Theophanies. 
The Sheykhis, believing him to be one of themselves, at first 
listened complacently enough as he developed his doctrine, 
and were even pleased with his eloquence and fervour. But 
when, after declaring that in each dispensation there must needs 
be a “Point of Darkness” opposed to the “Point of Light,” a 
Nimrod against an Abraham, a Pharaoh against a Moses, an 
Abu Jahl against a Muhammad, an Antichrist (Dajjd/) against 
a Mahdi, he so described the “Point of Light” and “Point of 
Darkness” of this cycle as to make it clear that by the former he 
meant Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad the Bab, and by the latter Haji 
Muhammad Karim Khan, the fury of his audience burst forth; 
they seized him, dragged him from the mosque, reviled him, 
cursed him, pelted him with stones, bound him to a tree, and 
scourged him most cruelly. In spite of all they could do, how- 
ever, he continued to laugh and exult, so that at last they were 
obliged to release him. 

Tuesday, 18th June, 8th Shawwdl—This afternoon, I received 
another visit from Afzal Khan the Belich, who wished me to 
give him a letter of introduction to my friend the Nawwab 
Mirza Hasan ‘Ali Khan at Mashhad, whither he proposed to 
ptoceed shortly. Then he began to persuade me to accompany 
him thither, and thence onwards to Kandahar and Kal‘at-i- 
Nasiri, his home in Beltchistan. “You say you are a traveller,” 
concluded he, “desirous of seeing as much as you can of the 
world: well, Beluchistan is part of the world, and a very fine part 
too; not Persian Beluchistan, of course, which is a poor, miser- 
able place, but our own land.” I declined his seductive offer, 
and thereupon he taunted me with being afraid. At this juncture 
the Sheykh of Kum and the postmaster’s son arrived. 

“Well,” said the Sheykh, when the usual greetings had been 


KIRMAN SOCIETY s11 


exchanged, “what do you make of these two Firangis who have 
come to KirmanP” 

“Hitherto,” I replied, “I have hardly seen them, and con- 
sequently am not in a position to form an opinion.” 

“They declare themselves to be Frenchmen,” continued the 
Sheykh, ‘but if so it is a very astonishing thing that they should 
be so wanting in good manners as they appear to be, for we 
always suppose the French to be remarkable amongst European 
nations for their courtesy and politeness.” 

“Your supposition is correct, as a tule,” I answered, “even 
though there be exceptions; but you know the aphorism ‘en- 
nddiru kal-ma‘dim’ (‘the exceptional is as the non-existent’). 
In what way have they shown a lack of courtesy?” 

“Why,” said the Sheykh, “his Royal Highness the Prince © 
(may God perpetuate his rule!) naturally wished to see them and 
ascertain the business which had brought them here, so he sent 
a message inviting them to visit him. They refused to come. He 
was naturally very angry; but, seeing that they were Firangis, 
‘and so (saving your presence) not to be judged by our standards 
of good behaviour, he swallowed down his annoyance, and sent 
another message saying, ‘Since you do not wish to visit me, I 
must needs visit you.’ In answer to this second message they 
sent back word that their lodging was not suitable for receiving 
so august a personage. His Royal Highness hesitated to punish 
their churlishness as it deserved; but, finding that they had with 
them a Persian attendant lent to them by the Governor of Mash- 
had (with whom Prince Nasitu’d-Dawla is not on the best of 
terms), he ordered him to come to the palace for interrogation 
on the following day; ‘for,’ thought he, ‘him at least I can 
oblige to speak.’ When the Firangis found that their fists were 
going to be opened! in spite of them, they decided to accompany 
their man before the Prince, and, without giving any notice of 
their visit, in they marched with their great ditty boots (which 


1 I.e. that their secrets were going to be disclosed. 


512 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


they never even offered to remove); neither would they give 
any satisfactory account of themselves or their business. We 
think it probable that they are come after walnut-trees, which, 
as men say, they cut and polish in some manner known to 
themselves, in such a way that pictures or reflections of any scene 
which may have taken place in the neighbourhood of the tree 
appear in the polished surface of the wood; but of this you prob- 
ably know more than we do. The question is, are they really 
Frenchmen, as they assert?” 

“T don’t know,” said I; ‘“‘all I can say is that they talk French, 
so far as I can judge, as though it were their native language.” 

“Don’t you believe a word of it,” broke in the Beluch; 
“they ate no more French than I am. Who are the French 
that they should dare to act towards his Royal Highness as these 
men have done? No; they are either Russians or English; of 
that you may be sure.” 

We laughed at the Beluch’s ideas on the balance of power in 
Europe, while he continued with increasing excitement— 

“Tf his Royal Highness will but give me a hint, I will seek 
out these Firangis in their lodging—I and my companions here 
—and will kill them, and cut off their heads, and lay them at the 
Prince’s feet.” 

“And how would you do that?” asked the Sheykh, with 
difficulty suppressing his mirth. 

“Do it?” rejoined Afzal Khan; “easily enough. I would 
find out where they lodged, walk in one fine day with an ‘es- 
selimu ‘aleykum’ (peace be upon you’), and cut them down with 
this sword of mine Soho they had time to speaks, ot flee, or offer 
the slightest resistance.’ 

“Oh,” said the Sheykh, “‘but that wouldn’t be at all right; you 
shouldn’t say “peace be upon you’ to a man you are just going to 
kill”? 

“Why. note” retorted the Beluch, “‘they ate infidels, kafrs, 


and such it is lawful to slay in any manner.” 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 513 


“But he is a kdfir too,” slyly remarked the Sheykh, pointing 
towards myself. 

“Yes, I know he is,” exclaimed the Beltch, “‘and if only —-”’ 
Here he was interrupted by a general roar of laughter. 

“O most excellent Khan,” I cried, as soon as the general 
metriment had somewhat subsided, “now your fist is opened! 
Now I see why you were so eager for me to accompany you to 
yout interesting, hospitable country. A long journey, in sooth, 
would it have been, and one, as I think, on which I might have 
set out singing— 


* Dam-t-raftan-ast, ‘Urfi; bi-rukhash nazdré’t Run, 
Ki umid-t-bax-gashtan kas az in safar na-ddrad.’ 


“Tis the moment of departure, O ‘Urfi; take a last look at his face, 
For from this journey none may hope to return.’”’ 


The Beluch hung his head in some confusion, and then began 
to laugh gently. “You ate quite right, Sahib,” he said, “‘but 
I know very well that you are an agent of your government, 
engaged in heaven knows what mischief here.” 

“Why, look at me,” I replied; “I live, as you,see, like a der- 
vish, without any of the circumstance or having which befits 
an envoy of such a government as ours.” 

“Ay,” he retorted, “but you English are cunning enough to 
avoid ostentation when it suits your own ends to do so. I know 
you to my cost, and that is the way it always begins.” 

And so the matter dropped, and that was the last I saw of 
my friend Afzal Khan. 

Later on several other visitors came; the Seyyid, of course; 
Haji Shirazi, who was immensely slaps having, as he in- 
formed me, drunk half a bottle of brandy “‘for his stomach’s 
sake”; and the parcher of peas. The last drew me aside out of 
the hearing of the Seyyid (between whom and himself subsisted 
a most violent antipathy), and said he had come to ask me to 
have suppet one night with him, the postmaster, and some other 


B 4:3 


514 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


congenial friends, so that we could converse quietly and without 
fear of intrusion. 

“Thank you,” I said, “‘I shall be very pleased to come any 
evening that suits you, and I am no less anxious than yourself 
for an opportunity for some quiet conversation; for hitherto, 
though I know that many of my friends here are Babis, we have 
only talked on side-issues, and have never come to the main 
point. And it is about the Bab especially, and Kurratu’l-“Ayn, 
and the others, not about Beha, that I want to hear. It was he 
whom I heard about and learned to admire and love before I 
left my native country: and since my arrival in Persia, though 
I have conversed with many Babis, it is always of Beha that they 
speak. Beha may be vety well, and may be superior to the Bab, 
but it is about the Bab that I want to hear.” 

“Yes,” he replied, “you shall hear about him, for he is worth 
hearing about—the Lord Jesus come back to earth in another 
form. He was but a child of nineteen when his mission began, 
and was only twenty-six when they killed him—killed him 
because he was a charmer of hearts, and for no crime but this— 

‘Dar kuddm millat-ast tn, dar kuddm madhhab-ast in? 
Ki kushand dilbart-rda, ki, “Tu dil-ruba chird’t?”’’ 
“In what church, in what religion, is this lawful, 
That they should kill a charmer of hearts, saying, “‘ Why dost thou 
steal hearts?”’” 
“Whose is that verse?” I enquired. 
“Oh,” he replied, “the original verse is ‘Irdki’s, and runs 


thus— “Dar kudam millat-ast in, dar kudim madhhab-ast in? 


Ki kushand ‘dshiki-rd, ki, “Tu ‘dshikam chird’1?”’’ 
‘In what church, in what religion, is this lawful, 
That they should kill a lover, saying, “‘ Why art thou my lover?”’’ 
But we have altered the verse to suit our purpose.” 
At this point the Seyyid was seen approaching us, and the 
parcher of peas fled as from the Angel of Death. But Hajf 
Shirazi outstayed even the Seyyid, and after supper consumed 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 515 


as much brandy as he could get, observing repeatedly in a rather 
unsteady voice that no amount of it produced any effect upon him, 
because moistute so greatly predominated in his natural tem- 
perament. 

Wednesday, 19th June, 9th Shawwdl—This morning I received - 
a visit from a very melancholy person, who, I think, held the 
office of treasurer to the Prince-Governor. He told me that he 
did not like Europeans, and would not have come to see me if 
he had not heard that I, unlike most of them, took an interest 
in religious questions, into which he forthwith plunged, arguing 
against the possibility of the use of wine being sanctioned by any 
true prophet, and defending the seclusion of women and the use 
of the veil. Against these last I argued very earnestly, pointing 
out the evils which, as it appeared to me, resulted from them. 
He was silent for a while after I had finished speaking, and then 
said :— 

“Tt is true; I admit the force of your arguments, and I cannot 
at this moment give a sufficient and satisfactory answer to them, 
though I believe there must be one. But I will not attempt 
to give an insufhicient answer, for my sole desire is to be just and 
fair.” 

Before he left he told me that he suffered much from indiges- 
tion, brought on by excessive meditation, adding, “‘I fear, I fear 
greatly.” I asked him what he feared, and he replied, “God.” 

In the afternoon Feridun came to me while I was sitting in 
Haji Shirazi’s shop, to arrange for a visit to the dakhmé, or 
“tower of silence” of the Zoroastrians. Haji Shirazi was most 
insolent to him, calling him a son of a dog (“‘pidar-sag’’), a gabr, 
and the like. I saw poor Feridtin flush up with an anger which 
it cost him an effort to control, and would fain have given the 
drunken old Haji a piece of my mind, had I been certain that 
he did not intend his rudeness for playful banter, and had I not 
further feared that in any case my tremonstrances would only 
increase his spite against Feridun, which I could only hope to 


33-2 


516 -KIRMAN SOCIETY 


supptess so long as I remained at Kirman. I told Feridun this 
afterwards, and he not only approved my action, but begged me 
not to interfere in any similar case. “It would do no permanent 
good,” he said, “and would only embitter them against us. But 
- do not forget what we poor Zoroastrians have to suffer at the 
hands of these Musulmans when you return to your native land, 
and try, if you can, to do something for us.” 

Towards evening I rode out with Gushtasp and Feriduin to 
the lonely dakhmé situated on a jagged mountain-spur at some 
little distance from the town. Gushtasp rode his donkey; but 
Feridin, who was a bold and skilful rider, had borrowed a horse, 
for the Zoroastrians at Kirman are not subjected to restrictions 
quite so irksome as those which prevail at Yezd. We stopped 
twice on the way to drink wine, at a place called Sar-z-pul 
(“Bridge-end”), and at a sort of half-way house, where funerals 
halt on their way to the dakhmé, or rather dakhmés, for there are 
two of them, one disused, and one built by Manakji, the late 
Zoroastrian agent at Teheran, a little higher up the ridge. At 
the foot of this we dismounted, Mulla Gushtasp remaining below 
to look after the animals, while I ascended with Feridin by a 
steep path leading to the upper dakhmé. Here Feridin, whose 
brother had recently been conveyed to his last resting-place, 
proceeded to mutter some prayers, untying and rebinding his 
girdle or kushti as he did so; after which he produced a bottle 
of wine and poured three libations to the dead, exclaiming as 
he did so, “Khudd bi-ydmurzad hama-i-raftagdn-rd”’ (“May God 
forgive all those who are gone!”’), and then helped himself and 
passed the wine to me. Observing an inscribed tablet on the side 
of the dakhmé (which was still some twenty yards above us) 
I called my companion’s attention to it, and made as though I 
would have advanced towards it; but he checked me. ‘‘ None,” 
said he, “‘may pass beyond this spot where we stand, save only 
those whose duty it is to convey the dead to their last resting- 
place, and a curse falls on him who persists in so doing.” As 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 517 


he spoke he pointed to a Persian inscription cut on the rock 
beside us, which I had not previously observed, wherein a curse 
was invoked on anyone whom curiosity, or a desire “to molest 
the dead,” should impel to enter the dakhbmé. Near this was 
inscribed the well-known verse— 
“Ey dust! bar jendzé-i-dushman chi bigzari, 
Shadi ma-kun, ki bar th hamin md-jard buvad.” 
“O friend! when thou passest by the corpse of thine enemy 
Rejoice not, for on thee will the same fate fall.”’ 

Below this was recorded the date of the dakhmé’s completion 
—Dhil-Hijé 20th, aw. 1283 (25th April, a.p. 1867), corte- 
sponding to the year 1236 of Yezdigird. 

On teturning to the garden I found the inevitable Seyyid 
Huseyn, who had arrived soon after I had gone out, and, in 
my absence, had been inflicting his theological dissertations on 
N@ ib Hasan. It had been arranged that I should visit a certain 
Mirza Muhammad Ja‘far Khan (a nephew of the great leader 
of the Sheykhis and antagonist of the Babis, Haji Muhammad 
Karim Khan), who had called upon me a few days previously: 
and the Seyyid, hearing this, insisted on accompanying me. On 
teaching his house, which stood alone at some distance from the 
town, we wete received by him and a stout pallid youth named 
Yusuf Khan (who, I believe, was his cousin or nephew) in the 
tanbal-khané, or lounging-room, the walls of which were pro- 
fusely decorated with a strange medley of cheap European prints 
and photographs representing scripture incidents, scenes from 
Uncle Tom’s Cabin, scantily clothed women, and other incon- 
gruous subjects, arranged in the worst possible taste. The low 
opinion of my host’s character with which this exhibition in- 
spited me was not bettered by his conversation, which was, so 
far as I remember, singularly pointless. He evidently felt ill at 
ease in the presence of the Seyyid, who enquired very search- 
ingly as to the reception which the eldest of Haji Muhammad 
Karim Khan’s sons, the chief of the Sheykhis, had met with at 


518 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


the holy shrines of Kerbela and Nejef, whither he had recently 
gone. So fat as we could learn, he had been anything but cordially 
received, and at Kazimeyn the people had not suffered him to 
preach in the mosque. On my return to the garden I had supper 
with N4a’ib Hasan, who aspersed the character of my new ac- 
quaintance in a way which I cannot bring myself to repeat. 

Thursday, 20th June, 1oth Shawwdl.—This morning I paid a visit 
to one of the most eminent members of the clergy of Kirman, 
the mujtahid Mulla Muhammad Salih-i-Kirmani. He was a fine- 
looking man, with a long black beard and deeply furrowed brow, 
and received me with a somewhat haughty courtesy. He con- 
versed on religious topics only, pointing out the beauties of the 
law of Islam, and taking great exception to the carelessness of 
Europeans in certain matters of purification. On leaving his 
house I was taken to see an iron foundry, where I was shown 
two excellent-looking Enfield rifles manufactured by a Kirmani 
gunsmith, in imitation of one of European workmanship lent 
to him by the Prince-Governor. 

In the afternoon I received a visit from the two Frenchmen 
of whose arrival in Kirman I have already spoken. Haji Muham- 
mad Khan, Mulla Yusuf, and Seyyid Huseyn happened to come 
while they were with me; but the last, on a hint from Na’ib 
Hasan that wine was likely to be produced, fled precipitately, 
to the satisfaction of everyone. The Frenchmen appeared, from 
their account, to have had a very rough journey from Mashhad 
to Kirman, and not to enjoy much comfort even here; they were 
delighted with the wine, cognac, and tea which I placed before 
them (for they had not been able to obtain any sort of alcohol 
here, not knowing whither to go for it), and conversed freely 
on everything save the objects of their journey, of which they 
seemed unwilling to speak, though Haji Muhammad Khan, who 
really did speak French with some approach to fluency, en- 
deavoured again and again to extract some information from 
them. He was so disgusted at his ill success that he afterwards 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 519 


announced to me his conviction that they were persons of no 
rank or breeding, and that he had no wish to see anything more 
of them. 

In the evening I supped with the Prince-Governor, the party 
being completed by the Sheykh of Kum and the Prince-Tele- 
graphist. The meal was served in European fashion in a room 
in the Bdgh-i-Ndsiriyya palace, which was brilliantly illuminated. 
A great number of European dishes was set before us, no doubt 
in my honour, though, as a matter of fact, I should have greatly 
preferred Persian cookery. Wine, too, was provided, and not 
merely for show either. The Prince, acting, I suppose, on the 
aphorism, “‘Address men according to the measure of their 
understandings,” conversed chiefly on European politics, in 
which I felt myself thoroughly out of my depth. He was, how- 
ever, extremely kind; and when I left, insisted on lending me a 
horse and a man to conduct me home. 

Friday, 21st June, 11th Shawwd/.—tin the afternoon I returned 
Mirza Jawad’s call, and found with him his son and his son’s 
tutor, Mulla Ghulam Huseyn, a Sheykhi, from whom I extracted 
the following account of the essential doctrines of his school:— 

“The Balasaris, or ordinary Shi‘ites,” said he, “assert that 
the essentials of religion are five, to wit, belief in the Unity of 
God (tawpid), the Justice of God (‘ad/), the Prophetic Function 
(nubwvvat), the Imamate (¢mdmat), and the Resurrection (ma‘dd). 
Now we say that two of these cannot be reckoned as primary 
doctrines at all; for belief in the Prophet involves belief in his 
book and the teachings which it embodies, amongst which is 
the Resurrection; and there is no more reason for regarding a 
belief in God’s justice as a principal canon of faith than belief 
in God’s Mercy, or God’s Omnipotence, or any other of His 
Attributes. Of their five principles or essentials (ws#/), therefore, 
we accept only three; but to these we add another, namely, that 
there must always exist amongst the Musulmans a ‘Perfect 
Shiite’ (Sht‘a-z-kdmil) who enjoys the special guidance of the 


520 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


Imdms, and acts as a Channel of Grace (Wdsita-i-feyz) between 
them and their Church. This tenet we call ‘the Fourth Support’ 
(Rukn-i-rabi‘), or fourth essential principle of religion.” 

In the evening I was the guest of Usta Akbar, the parcher 
of peas, at supper, and stayed the night at his house. Amongst 
the guests were Ak4 Fathu’llah, a young Ezeli minstrel and poet, 
who sung verses in praise of the Bab, composed by himself; 
Sheykh Ibrahim of Sultan-abad; oneof his intimates and admirers, 
a setvant of the Farrash-bashi, named ‘Abdu’ll4h; a post-office 
official, whom I will call Haydaru’lla4h; and the pea-parcher’s 
brother. As the evening wore on, these began to talk very 
wildly, in a fashion with which I was soon to become but too 
familiar, declaring themselves to be one with the Divine Essence, 
and calling upon me by such titles as “‘ Jendb-i-Sadhib” and 
“ Flazrat-i-Firangi”’ to acknowledge that there was “‘no one but 
the Lord Jesus” present. Wearied and somewhat disgusted as 
I was, it was late before they would suffer me to retire to rest on 
the roof. 

Saturday, 22nd June, 12th Shawwdl—tThe party at Usta Akbat’s 
did not break up till about an hour and a half before sunset, 
when I returned to the garden accompanied by Sheykh Ibrahim, 
who from this time forth until I left Kirman became my constant 
companion, though mote than once, disgusted at his blasphemous 
conversation and drunkenness, I endeavoured to discourage his 
visits. But he was not one to be easily shaken off; and on these 
occasions, when my indignation had been specially kindled 
against him, he would make so fair a show of regret for his 
conduct that I was constrained to forget his unseemly behaviout. 
Moteover, he was a man well worth talking to, so long as he 
was sober or not more than half drunk, having travelled widely 
through Persia, Turkey, and Egypt; seen many strange things 
and stranger people; and mixed with almost every class and sect, 
as it is the privilege of his order to do. He was, indeed, one of 
the most extraordinary men whom I ever met, and presented 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 521 


a combination of qualities impossible in any but a Persian. 
Anarchist, antinomian, heretic, and libertine to the very core, 
he gloried in drunkenness, and expressed the profoundest con- 
tempt for every ordinance of Islam, boasting of how he had first 
eaten pork in the company of a European traveller with whom he 
foregathered in Egypt, and quoting in excuse for his orgies of 
hashish and spirits this couplet from the Masnavi— 
“ Nang-i-bang u khamr bar khud mi-nibi 
Td damit az khwishtan ti vd-rahi.” 
“Thou disgracest thyself with dang and wine 
In order that for a moment thou mayest escape from thyself.” 

I have seen him, on an occasion when by the laws of Islam 
the minor ablution was incumbent on him, take up an empty 
ewer (dftdbé), and, when warned by his friends that it contained 
no water, reply, “Bah! What do I care? I only carry it to blind 
these accursed dogs of orthodoxy, who, if they had but proof 
of one-tenth of the contempt which I entertain for them and 
their observances, would tear me in pieces.”’ He professed to be 
a Babi, and (as will be related in its proper place) had all but 
suffered death for his beliefs. When a youth he had visited Beha 
at Acre and Subh-i-Ezel in Cyprus, and declared himself to be 
a follower of the former, though in point of fact he paid no more 
attention to the commands and prohibitions of the Kitdb-i-Akdas 
than to those of the Kur’4n, accounting all laws, human and 
divine, as made by the wise for fools to observe. In short, he 
was just a free-thinking, free-living, antinomian dervish or 
kalandar, a sort of mixture of “Omar-i-Khayy4m and ‘Iraki, with 
only a fraction of their talent and culture, and ten times theit 
disregard for orthodox opinion and conventional morality. Yet 
was he lacking neither in originality, power of observation and 
deduction, nor humour; and his intelligence, now sadly under- 
mined by narcotics and alcohol, must have originally been 
sufficiently acute. 

Such was the man in whose society it was my lot to pass 


§22 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


a considerable portion of my remaining days at Kirman. Again 
and again, as I have said, I would have cast him off and been 
quit of him, but ever the interest of his extraordinary character 
and the charm of his conversation made me condone his faults 
and bear with him a little longer. He was a perfect repository 
of information concerning the roads, halting-places, towns, and 
peoples of Western Asia; you had but to ask him how to reach 
any town from a given starting-place, and he would in a few 
minutes sketch you out two or three alternative routes, with the 
stages, advantages, disadvantages, and points of interest of each. 
To give an instance, I had at this time some idea of quitting 
Persia by Hamadan, and making my way thence to the Mediter- 
ranean, and I enquired of Sheykh Ibrahim whether this project 
were feasible. 

““Oh yes,” he replied, “‘nothing can be easier. From Hamadan 
you will go to Sanandij, a march of four days; thence in four 
days to Suleymaniyyé; thence in four days more to Mosul, where 
you must certainly pay a visit to Zeynu’|-Mukarrabin.” 

“And who,” enquired I, ‘is Zeynu’l-Mukarrabin?” 

““He is one of the most notable of ‘the Friends’” (Abba), i.e. 
the Babis), replied he, “‘and to him is entrusted the revision and 
correction of all copies of the sacred books sent out for circula- 
tion, of which, indeed, the most trustworthy are those trans- 
cribed by his hand. His real name is Mull4 Zeynu’l-‘Abidin of 
Najaf-abad. You may also see at Mosul Mirza ‘Abdu’l-Wahhab 
of Shiraz, the seal-engraver, who will cut for you a seal bearing 
an inscription in the New Writing (Khattz-badi‘), and Mirza 
‘Abdu’llah “Adéka-band, both of whom are worth visiting.” 

“Are these the only Babis at Mosul?” I enquired. 

“Oh, no,” he answered, “you will find plenty of them there 
and elsewhere on your route. You can tell them by their dress; 
they wear the Turkish fez with a small white turban, and a jubbé; 
they do not shave their heads, but on the other hand they never 
allow the zua/f to grow below the level of the lobe of the 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 523 


ear.. Well, to continue. From Mosul you will go in four days 
to Jeziré, thence in three days to Mardin, thence in four days to 
Diyar Bekr, thence in four days to ‘Urfa, thence in two days 
to Suwarak, thence in three days to ‘Awra, thence in three days to 
Birejik, and thence in six days to Iskanderin (Alexandretta), 
where you can take ship for Constantinople, or Alexandria, or 
your own country, as you please. But you should by all means 
go to Acre, and visit Beha, so that your experience may be 
complete.” 

“You have visited Acre, have you not?” I enquired; “‘tell me 
what sort of place it is, and what you saw there.” 

“Yes,” he replied, “I was there for seventy days, during 
which period I was honoured (musharraf) by admission to the 
Holy Presence twelve times. The first time I was accompanied 
by two of Beha’s sons, by his amanuensis and constant attendant 
Aka Mirza Ak4 Jan of K4shan, whom they call ‘ Jendb-i-Khd- 
dimu lah’? (‘His Excellence the Servant of God’), and by my 
fellow-traveller. All these, so soon as we entered the presence- 
chamber, prostrated themselves on the ground; but while I, 
ignorant of the etiquette generally observed, was hesitating what 
to do, Beha called out to me ‘It is not necessary’ (‘Layim nist’). 
Then said he twice in a loud voice, ‘Béraka’ldhu ‘aleykum’ 
(‘God bless you!’), and then, ‘Most blessed are ye, in that ye 
have been honoured by beholding Me, which thing saints and 
prophets have desired most earnestly.” Then he bade us be 
seated, and gave orders for tea to be set before us. My com- 
panion hesitated to drink it, lest he should appear wanting in 
reverence, seeing which Beha said, ‘The meaning of offering 
a person tea is that he should drink it.’ Then we drank our tea, 
and Khddimu’lldh tread aloud one of the Epistles (A/yap); after 
which we were dismissed. During my stay at Acre I was taken 
ill, but Beha sent me a portion of the pi/dw which had been set 
before him, and this I had no sooner eaten than I was restored to 
health. You should have seen how the other believers envied 


524 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


me, and how they begged for a few grains from my share! And 
this happened on two subsequent occasions. When I left Acre, 
Beha commended me, but bade me preach the doctrine no more, 
because I had already suffered enough in God’s way.” 

Later on Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz joined us, and, thinking to 
please Sheykh Ibrahim, pretended that he too was a Babi. But 
when Sheykh Ibrahim feigned ignorance of the whole matter, 
expressing surprise, and, in some cases, mild disapproval, at 
what Mirza Yusuf told him of the doctrines and practices of 
the sect, the latter, thinking that he had made a mistake, changed 
his ground, and told us that he had only pretended to be a 
convert to the new religion so as to get money from the rich 
and charitable Babis at Yezd. I could hardly contain my laughter 
as I watched Mirza Yusuf thus entangling himself in the snare 
set for him by the Sheykh, who, meanwhile, never so much as 
smiled at the success of his stratagem. I expected, of course, 
that the whole story would become known to all the Babis in 
Kirman, but I think the Sheykh kept his own counsel, being 
less concerned with the exposure of hypocrisy, than with his 
own amusement. 

After Mirza Yusuf’s withdrawal, the Sheykh, having com- 
municated to me a great deal of very scandalous gossip about 
the postmaster (whom he was by way of considering as one 
of his best friends), began to discuss with high approval the 
character of the free-thinking poet Nasir-i-Khusraw, whose 
poems and apocryphal autobiography he had been recently 
reading. The episode in the autobiography which had especially 
delighted him, and which he repeated to me with infinite relish, 
runs as follows 1:— 


“After much trouble we reached the city of Nishapir, there being with us 
a pupil of mine, an expert and learned metaphysician. Now in the whole city 
of Nishapur there was no one who knew us, so we came and took up our 
abode in a mosque. As we walked through the city, at the door of every 


1 I translate from the Tabriz edition of Nasir-i-Khusraw’s works, litho- 
graphed in A.H. 1280 (A.D. 1864), pp. 6, 7. 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 525 


mosque by which we passed men were cursing me, and accusing me of 
heresy and atheism; but the disciple knew nothing of their opinion con- 
cerning me. One day, as I was passing through the bazaar, a man from 
Egypt saw and recognised me, and approached me, saying, ‘Art thou not 
Nasir-i-Khusraw, and is not this thy brother Abu Sa‘id?’ In terror I seized 
his hand, and, engaging him in conversation, led him to my lodging. Then 
I said, ‘Take thirty thousand miskd/s of gold, and refrain from divulging the 
secret.” When he had consented, I at once bade my familiar spirit produce 
that sum, gave it to him, and thrust him out from my lodging. Then I went 
with Abt Sa‘id to the bazaar, halted at the shop of a cobbler, and gave him 
my shoes to repair, that we might go forth from the city, when suddenly 
a clamour made itself heard near at hand, and the cobbler hastened in the 
direction whence the sounds proceeded. After a while he returned with a 
piece of flesh on the end of his bradawl. ‘What,’ enquired I, ‘was the 
disturbance, and what is this piece of flesh?’ ‘Why,’ replied the cobbler, 
“it appears that one of Nasirt-i-Khusraw’s disciples appeared in the city and 
began to dispute with the doctors thereof. These repudiated his assertions, 
each adducing some respectable authority, while he continued to quote in 
support of his views verses of Nasir-i-Khusraw. So the clergy tore him in 
pieces as a meritorious action, and I too, to merit a reward, cut off a portion 
of his flesh.” When I learned what had befallen my disciple, I could no longer 
control myself, and said to the cobbler, ‘Give me my shoes, for one should 
not tarry in a city where the verses of Nasir-i-Khusraw are recited.’ So I took 
my shoes, and came forth with my brother from Nishapur.” 


The Sheykh then recited to me the two following fragments 
of Nasir-i-Khustaw’s verse, which, it will be allowed, are 
sufficient to account for the lack of favour wherewith he was 
regarded by the clergy of Nishapur:— 


“ lai, rast ghyam; fitné az tust, 
Valt az tars na-t’vdanam chakidan. 
Agar rigt bi-kafsh-i-khud na-dari 
Chird bdyast Sheytdn dfaridan? 
Lab u dinddn-i-khubdn-i-Khata-ra 
Badin khibi na-bdyast dfaridan. 
Bi-dhi mi-zant ‘ Hey! Hey!’ ki bigriz; 
Bi-tdzi mi-zant ‘Hey!’ bar davidan.” 
“O God, although through fear I hardly dare 
To hint it, all our trouble springs from Thee. 
Had’st Thou no sand or gravel in Thy shoes 
What prompted Thee to bid the Devil be? 
’Twere well an Thou had’st made the lips and teeth 
Of Tartar beauties not so fair to see. 
With cries of ‘On!’ Thou bid’st the hound pursue; 
With cries of ‘On!’ Thou bid’st the quarry flee!” 


526 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


“ Nasir-i-Khusraw bi-dashti mi-guzasht, 
Mast-i-ld-ya‘kil, na chin mey-khwdragan. 
Mabrazi did u maxdari ra-bi-ru ; 

Bang bar zad; guft, ‘“k’ey nazzdragan! 
Ni‘mat-i-dunyd, va ni‘mat-kbwar bin; 
insh ni‘mat! snsh ni‘mat-khwaragan!’” 


“Dead drunk (not like a common sot) one day 
Nasir-i-Khusraw went to take the air. 
Hard by a dung-heap he espied a grave, 
And straightway cried, ‘O ye who stand and stare, 
Behold the world! Behold its luxuries! 
Its dainties, here—the fools who ate them, there!’”’ 


Ere evening was past, the Sheykh, like Nasir-i-Khusraw, 
was ‘“‘dead drunk, not like a common sot,” and finally, to my 
ereat relief, went to sleep, wrapped in his cloak, in a formless 
heap on the floor, where we left him till morning. He awoke 
vety late, and was sipping his morning tea with a woe-begone 
ait which contrasted strangely with his vivacity of the previous 
day, when visitors were announced, and my disagreeable 
acquaintance, Haji Muhammad Khan, accompanied by a pleasant, 
well-informed mu//d named Haji Sheykh Ja‘far of Kerbela, 
entered the room. He was more than usually impertinent and 
inquisitive; enquired when Sheykh Ibrahim had come to the 
garden, and, on learning from me that he had been there since 
the previous night, lifted his eyebrows in surprise, remarking 
that the Sheykh had said he came that morning early; and then 
proceeded to enquire pointedly how the postmaster was, and 
whether I had any fresh news from Adrianople or Acre, meaning, 
of coutse, to imply his belief that I was a Babi. Finally, however, 
N@ ib Hasan came to the rescue, reminding me in a loud voice 
that I had accepted an invitation to visit Hurmuzy4ar, one of my 
Zoroastrian friends, at his garden. He omitted to mention that 
the engagement was for the evening, but the intimation had the 
desired effect of causing Haji Muhammad Khana to retire, taking 
the divine with him. 

I now wished to go out, but to this Sheykh Ibrahim objected, 
declaring that it was too hot; so. we had lunch, and then ad- 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 527 


journed to the summet-house, where he fell asleep over my Babi 
history. On awakening from his nap he was more like his usual 
self, and began to entertain me with his conversation. 

“So you met Sheykh S——, the Babi courier, at Shiraz, did 
your” he began; “‘a fine old fellow he is, too, and has had some 
strange experiences. Did he tell you how he ate the letters?” 

“No,” I replied; “‘tell me about it.” 

“Ah,” he continued, “he is not given to talking much. Well, 
you must know that he goes to Acte once every year to convey 
letters from ‘the Friends’ in Persia and elsewhere, and to bring 
back replies. He takes Isfahan, Shiraz, Yezd, and the south, 
while Dervish Khavar takes Mazandaran, Gilan, and the northern 
patt of ‘Irak, riding about on a donkey, selling drugs, and passing 
himself off as an oculist. The Sheykh, however, goes everywhere 
on foot, save when he has to cross the sea; and this, I fancy, he 
only does when he cannot well avoid it, at least since a ship in 
which he was a passenger was wrecked between Bushire and 
Basra, and everyone on board drowned save himself and another 
dervish, who managed to keep themselves above water by means 
of floating wreckage, until, after fourteen or fifteen hours’ 
exposure, they were drifted ashore. As a rule, he so times his 
return from the interior as to reach Bushire early in the month 
of Dhi?/-Hijjé, whereby he is enabled to join the pilgrims bound 
for Jedda and Mecca. After the conclusion of the pilgrimage 
he makes his way to Acre, where he generally stays about two 
months, while the letters which he has brought are being 
answered. Though he is not, perhaps, honoured by admission 
to Beha’s presence more than once or twice during this period, 
he is in many ways a privileged person, being allowed to go into 
the andarin (women’s apartments) when he pleases, and to sit 
with outstretched feet and uncovered head even in the presence 
of the Masters (Akaydn, i.e. Beha’s sons). When the letters are 
all answered, he packs them into his wallet, takes his staff, and 
sets off by way of Beyrout for Mosul, where he stays for about a 
month with Zeynu’l-Mukarrabin, of whom I told you a few days 


528 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


azo. Thence he makes his way down the Tigris to Baghdad, and 
so across the frontier into Persia. He walks always off the beaten 
track to avoid recognition, and, for the same reason, seldom 
enters a town or village save to buy sufficient bread and onions 
(he is passionately fond of onions) to last him several days. These 
he packs away in his wallet on the top of the letters. At night 
he generally sleeps in a graveyard, or in some other unfrequented 
spot where he is not likely to be disturbed, unless there be some 
of ‘the Friends’ in the place where he halts, in which case they 
ate always glad to give him a night’s lodging. Well, it was about 
his eating his letters that I was going to tell you. Once in the 
course of his travels he was recognised in a village near Yezd, 
atrested, and locked up in an empty room to await examination 
by the ked-khudd, or head-man. The ked-khbudd chanced to be 
engaged when word was brought to him that the Babi courier 
had been caught. ‘Leave him locked up where he 1s,’ said he, 
‘till I can come.’ Now the Sheykh is a man of resource, and, 
findine that the ked-khudd did not immediately come to examine 
him, he began to cast about for some means of destroying the 
comptomising letters in his wallet; for he knew that if these 
should fall into the hands of the enemy the writers would get 
into trouble. Unluckily there was no fite, nor any means of 
making one; and the earth which formed the floor of the room 
was too hard to dig a hole in, even if it would have been safe 
to bury the letters in a place whence they could not afterwards 
be removed. There was only one thing left to do, namely, to 
eat them; and this the Sheykh proceeded to do. It was a tough 
meal, for their total weight amounted to several pounds, and 
some of them were written on thick, strong paper. In particular 
there was one great packet from Rafsinjan which cost the 
Sheykh a world of trouble, and on the senders of which, as I have 
myself heard him say, he lavished a wealth of curses and ex- 
pletives ere he finally succeeded in chewing it up and swallowing 
it. At length, however, the whole mass of correspondence was 
disposed of, and, when his persecutors arrived, there was the 


KIRMAN SOCIETY 529 
old Sheykh (with a very dry mouth, I expect, and, likely enough, 


somewhat uneasy within) sitting there as innocent-looking as 
could be. The ked-khudd and his man didn’t pay much heed to 
that, though, nor to his protestations; but when they had turned 
his wallet inside out, and searched all his pockets, and found 
not so much as the vestige of a letter to reward them for their 
pains, they were rather taken aback, and began to think they had 
made a mistake. They gave him the bastinado to make all sure, 
but, as he continued to protest that he was no Babi, and no 
courier, and knew nothing about any letters at all, they eventually 
had to let him go.” 

We were interrupted by the unwelcome arrival of Seyyid 
Huseyn of Jandak, and, quickly as I pushed the Babi history 
under a cushion, he noticed the movement, and forthwith pro- 
ceeded to make himself disagreeable (an accomplishment in 
which he excelled) to Sheykh Ibrahim, persistently and pointedly 
asking him about wine, where the best qualities were manu- 
factured, how and when it was usually drunk, and the like, on 
all of which points the Sheykh professed himself perfectly 
ignorant. The Seyyid, however, continued to discourse in this 
uncomfortable strain, concluding severely with the aphorism, 
“Man dana bi-dinin, lazimahu ahkdmuhu” (“Whosoever professeth 
a faith, its laws are binding on him”’). 

Presently the Farrdsh-bdshi’s servant, ‘Abdu’llah, who was 
one of the Sheykh’s intimates, joined us, and we had tea; but 
the Seyyid continued to act in the same aggressive and offensive 
manner, enquiring very particularly whether the cup placed 
before him had been properly purified since last it touched my 
infidel lips. Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz, who had brought it, answered 
perttly enough, and put the old man in a still worse temper, so 
that I was very glad when Na’ib Hasan reminded me in a loud 
voice that it was time to set out for the garden of Hurmuzyar, 
whose guest I was to be that evening, and the Seyyid departed, 
grumbling as he went, ““You have already forgotten the advice 


B 34 


530 KIRMAN SOCIETY 


I gave you the other day, ‘Eat no man’s bread, and grudge not 
thine own bread to any one.’” 

Sheykh Ibrahim, though uninvited, insisted on actompahying 
me and Na’ib Hasan to Hurmuzy4t’s entertainment. We found 
about twenty guests there assembled, all, with the exception of 
ourselves and Fathu’ll4h, the minstrel, Zoroastrians; Rustams 
and Rashids; Shahriyars, Dinydrs, and Ormuzdyars; Key- 
Khusraws and Khuda-murads; Bahmans, Bahrams, Isfandiyars 
and Mihrabans, The entertainment was on a magnificent scale, 
the minstrel sang well, and the pleasure of the evening was only 
matted by the conduct of Sheykh Ibrahim, who got disgustingly 
drunk, and behaved in the most indecorous manner. “But that 
he came under your egis,” said Hurmuzyar to me afterwards, 
when I apologised for his behaviour, and explained how he had 
forced his company upon me, “we would have tied his feet to 
the poles and given him the sticks; for if sticks be not for such 
drunken brutes as him, I know not for what they were created.” 
I was constrained to admit that he was right; but for all that 
I was unable to shake off my disreputable companion, who 
accompanied us back to the garden when we said good-night to 
our host, and slept heavily on the ground wrapped in his cloak. 

The next day, Monday, 14th Shawwal, 24th June, will ever 
be to me most memorable, for thereon did I come under the 
glamour of the Poppy-wizard, and forge the first link of a chain 
which it afterwards cost me so great an effort to break. Thereon, 
also, was first disclosed to me that vision of antinomian pan- 
theism which is the World of the Kalandar, and the source of all 
that is wildest and strangest in the poetry of the Persians. With 
this eventful day, then, let me open a new chapter. 


CGiEP AE. LE Re os VL. 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 





“How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, 
With half-shut eyes ever to seem 
Falling asleep in a half-dream! 
To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, 
Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height; 
To hear each other’s whisper’d speech; 
Rating the Lotos day by day, 


To lend our hearts and spirits wholly 
To the influence of mild-minded melancholy.” 
(TENNYSON.) 


“Tu va mulk nu jab-i-Sikandart, man urasm u rah-i-Kalandari; 
, , , , 499 
Agar an khush-ast, tu dar khuri; va gar in bad-ast, mara sazd. 


“Sikandar’s pomp and display be thine, the Kalandar’s habit and way be mine; 
That, if it please thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me.” 


(Kurratu’l-“ Ayn.) 
HIS was how it came about. 

On the afternoon of this notable day, about four hours 
before sunset, I went into the town to pay some visits, leaving 
Sheykh Ibrahim asleep in the garden. I first went to see the 
Frenchmen, about whose health I had heard disquieting reports, 
which, fortunately, turned out to be exaggerated. Having 
remained with them for rather more than half an hour, I pro- 
ceeded to the house of the young artillery officer whose ac- 
quaintance I had made through the Sheykh of Kum. While I 
was sitting there conversing with him, and watching the gro- 
tesque antics of a large tame monkey (‘autar) which he kept 
as a pet, I first became conscious of an uneasy sensation in my 
eye. My host, too, noticed that it appeared inflamed, and bade 

34-2 


$32 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


one of his servants bring a bowl of iced water that I might bathe 
it. So far from deriving any benefit from this treatment, how- 
ever, it rapidly grew wotse, so that, on my return to the garden, 
I was in considerable pain. 

Now Usta Akbar, the pea-parcher, whenever I urged him to 
tell me more about the Bab and his religion, used to declare that 
he could not talk freely on this topic save in some place where 
there was no fear of his being overheard; and it had therefore 
been arranged a day or two previously that on this evening 
he and a select company of his Babi friends—to wit, Sheykh 
Ibrahim of ‘Irak, the Farrdsh-bdshi’s man, ‘Abdu’llah, and the 
Ezeli minstrel, Fathu’ll4h—should sup with me in the garden 
and spend the night there. Just as I was going out in the after- 
noon, Usta Akbar had come to the garden bringing with him 
a Babi merchant (whom I will call Aké Muhammad Hasan of 
Yezd), just arrived on business in Kirman from the little village 
in Rafsinjan where he dwelt. He, having heard from Usta Akbar 
an account of myself, was so curious to see me that he insisted 
on at once paying me a visit; and no sooner were they seated 
than the pea-parcher began to introduce him in his usual wild 
language. 

“Here is Ak4é Muhammad Hasan,” said he, “come to do 
penance before you and entreat your forgiveness for his short- 
comings, in that when you passed through Rafsinjan he neither 
came out to meet you, nor brought you into his house, nor set 
you on your journey. I have scolded him well, saying, ‘Ak4 
Muhammad Hasan, the Holy Spirit (Ra#pu’--Kuds) passed through 
Rafsinjan, and you had not so much as a word of welcome, nor 
advanced one foot from the other. Are you not ashamed of 
yourself?’ He is now duly ashamed of himself, and will not be 
content till he receives from your lips the assurance of his 
pardon.” 

I was in a hurry to get rid of my visitors, as I had to go 
into the town; so, half assenting to Ak4é Muhammad Hasan’s 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 533 
proposal that I'should spend a few days with him at his village 


before leaving the province of Kirman, and inviting him to join 
us at supper that evening, when we should be able to talk to our 
hearts’ content, I bade them farewell for the present. 

On my return to the garden, about an hour after sunset, I 
found these two and Sheykh [brahim awaiting me. My eye 
was now so painful that I determined to cover it with a bandage, 
which at once called the attention of my guests to its condition, 
They all expressed the greatest concern, and Usta Akbar begged 
me to allow him to try a remedy which he had never known to 
fail. In this request he was so importunate that at last I most 
foolishly consented. Thereupon he went out into the garden 
and gathered some leaves from the hollyhock or other similar 
plant, with which he soon returned. Then he called for an egg, 
broke it into a cup, removed the yolk, leaving only the white, 
and bade me lie down on the floor on my back, and, if possible, 
keep the inflamed eye open. Then he poured the white of the 
- egg over the eye, covered it up with the leaves, and entreated me 
to remain still as long as I could, that the treatment might work. 
It did work: in two or three minutes the pain became so acute 
that I could bear it no longer, and called for warm water to wash 
away the horrid mess which half-blinded me. Usta Akbar 
remonstrated, but I told him that the remedy was worse than the 
disease. 

** Ah,” said he, “‘it is clear that I have made a mistake. When 
you told me that you had been bathing your eye in iced water, 
I assumed that this cold was the cause of the affection, and so 
applied a hot remedy. Now it is evident that it is due not to cold 
but to heat, so that a cold remedy should be applied. And I know 
one which will not disappoint you.” 

“Thank you,” I rejoined, “if it is anything like the last I 
should prefer to have nothing to do with it.” 

“Tt is nothing like the last,” he answered. “What I would 
suggest is that you should smoke a pipe of opium. That is a cold 


534 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


drug most potent in the treatment of hot maladies, and of its 
efficacy you cannot but have heard.” 

Opium! There was something fascinating about the idea. 
The action on the mental functions exercised by narcotic drugs 
had always possessed for me a special interest, and though the 
extremely unpleasant results of an experiment on the subjective 
effects of Cannabis Indica (Indian hemp) which I had tried while 
a student at St Bartholomew’s Hospital had somewhat cooled 
my enthusiasm for this sort of research, the remembrance of 
that dreadful evening when Time and Space seemed merging in 
confused chaos, and my very personality appeared to be under- 
going disintegration, had now sufficiently lost its vividness to 
make me not unwilling to court some fresh experience of this 
kind. So, after a few moments’ reflection, I signified my willing- 
ness to try Usta Akbat’s new cute; and ten minutes later my whole 
being was permeated with that glow of tranquil beatitude, con- 
scious of itself, nay, almost exultant in its own peaceful serenity, 
which constitutes the fatal charm of what the Persians call par 
excellence “the Antidote”’ (trydk). 

At this juncture the young Ezeli minstrel, and, soon after- 
watds, ‘Abdu’llah arrived, and we adjourned to the summer- 
house, where Haji Safar had spread a cloth on which were 
disposed dishes of fruit, sweets, and a#/ (pistachio-nuts, melon- 
seeds, and the like, strongly salted to whet the appetite), and 
bottles of wine and ‘arak. 

‘The conversation, though it did not flag, was at first quiet 
enough. My guests spoke in the usual strain of the succession 
of prophetic cycles, of the progressive character of Revelation, 
and of the increasing strength of the Theophanic Sun in each 
appearance. “The Lord Jesus,” said they, “was as a sun shining 
in the Fourth Heaven, which is the ‘Station of the Spirit’ 
(Makdm-i-Rup). Muhammad was in the Fifth Heaven, which 
is the “Station of Reason’ (Makdm-i-‘Ak/). The Nukté-i-Beydn, 
“His Holiness our Lord the Supreme’ (z.e. the Bab) appeared 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS $35 


yet higher, in the Sixth Heaven or ‘Station of Love’ (Makdm-i- 
“Ishk); and Beha, in whom all previous Manifestations find their 
fulfilment and consummation, occupies the Seventh or highest 
Heaven, and is a perfect Manifestation of the Unseen and In- 
comprehensible Essence of the Divinity.” 

Then suddenly some one bade the minstrel sing; and he, in 
high-pitched, plaintive voice, every modulation of which seemed 
to stir the soul to its very depths, burst forth with an ode of the 
Babi heroine Kurratu’/‘Ayn, whereof the translation which I 
here give can but dimly reflect the passion and the fire. 


“The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and 
calamity 
These broken-hearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal 
for Thee. 
2 Though with sword in hand my Darling stand with intent to slay, 
though I sinless be, 
If it pleases Him, this tyrant’s whim, I am well content with His 
tyranny. 
As in sleep I lay at the dawn of day that cruel Charmer came to me, 
And in the grace of His form and face the dawn of the morn I seemed 
to see. 
4 The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant 
tresses rain, 
While His eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of 
Tartary. 
With you, who contemn both love and wine for the hermit’s cell and 
the zealot’s shrine, 
What canI do? For our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy: 
6 The tangled curls of thy darling’s hair, and thy saddle and steed are 
thine only care; 
In thy heart the Infinite hath no share, nor the thought of the poor 
man’s poverty. 
Sikandar’s pomp and display be thine, the Ka/andar’s habit and way 
be mine; 
That, if it please thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough 
for me. 
8 The country of ‘I’ and ‘We’ forsake; thy home in Annihilation make, 
Since fearing not this step to take thou shalt gain the highest felicity.” 1 


1 This translation, together with the original text, I first published in the 
Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for 1889, the former at pp. 936-7, the latter 


536 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


When he had finished this ode, and the cries of “Ey jan!” 
(“O my life!”’) and “Kurbdn-at gardam!” (“May I be thy sacti- 
fice!”’), which, interjected more than once even in the course 
of the song, burst forth with uncontrollable enthusiasm at its 
conclusion, had ceased, the minstrel once more began to sing. 
I cannot recall the actual words of this song, save in a few places, 


but the general tenor of it was not far from the paraphrase 
which I here offer— 


“As you gaze on the heaving Ocean’s foam 
A myriad bubbles meet your eye; 
The rain-drops fall from their heavenly home 
To ascend no more, it would seem, on high; 
But all shall return when their race is run, 
For their source is one, their source is one! 


“Through glasses of every tint and hue 
Fair and bright shine the rays of light; 
Some may be violet, and some be blue, 
Some be orange, and some be white; 
But in essence and origin all are one, 
For the source of all is the radiant Sun! 


“Beaker and flagon and bowl and jar, 
Of earth or crystal, coarse or fine, 
However the Potter may make or mar, 
Still may serve to contain the Wine; 
Should we this one seek, or that one shun, 
When the Wine which lends them their worth is one?” 


Again the minstrel was silent, and Sheykh Ibrahim, with 
flushed face and glittering eyes, began to speak. “‘ Yes,” said he, 
““we are all one. What matter if the vessels differ in honour and 
degree one from another, when in truth their honour is but from 


at p. 991. For the benefit of those not accustomed to this style of mystical 
verse, in which the Persians so greatly delight, I may remark that by such 
terms as “the Beloved,” “the Darling,” “the Friend,” and the like, God (or 
in this case the Bab) is intended; that the “cruelty” and “tyranny” attributed 
to Him are not regarded as reproaches, but rather as praise of His “inde- 
pendence” (sstighnd); that Islam is the faith “demolished by His eyes” 
though “in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary”’; and that couplets 5 and 
6 are addressed respectively to the dry votaries of orthodox piety, and to 
such as care only for the world and its pleasures. 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 537 


the wine they hold, which perisheth not though they be broken 
in pieces? And what is this Wine which perisheth not, which 
pervadeth all things? God, you will answer. Then, what, I say 
again, is God? An imaginary abstraction? A projection of your 
own petsonality and conceptions thrown on the sky above? 
‘ Hich ism-i-bi-musammad dtdé’t? 
Yd vi GAF 4 LAm-i-‘gul’ gul chided? 
Ism justi; raw, musamma-ra bi-ju: 
Mah bi-bala dan, na andar ab ijn.’ 
‘Did’st ere a Name without an Object see, 
Or cull a rose from R, O, S, and EP 
Thou seek’st the Name; to find the Object try: 
The Moon’s not in the stream, but in the sky.’ 
What, then, means the ‘meeting with God’ spoken of in the 
Kur’4ne Who are ‘those who shall meet their Lord’? Can 
you meet an Abstraction? Nay, is not this Abstraction, after 
all, but the creation of your own mind, and as such dependent 
on you and inferior to you? No, God is something real, visible, 
tangible, definite. Go to Acre and see God!”’ 

““Now God forbid,” I exclaimed in utter horror of the frightful 
anthropomorphism thus suddenly laid bare before me, “God 
forbid that it should be so! Why, the very verse which you cited 
from the Masnavi beats witness against you—‘* The Moon’s not 
in the stream but in the sky’—that is to say, as I understand it, 
‘Look for the Reality outside and beyond this phenomenal 
world, not in these transient reflections whereby, clearly or 
dimly, it is mirrored amongst mankind.’ The mirror wholly 
depends on the original, and owes all to it; the original stands 
in no need of the mirror. ‘Exalted is God above that which they 
allege |’”’ 

Then Fathu’llah, the minstrel, broke in. “O Hazrat-i-Firangi!”’ 
he exclaimed, ‘‘all these ideas and thoughts about God which 
you have, yea, your very doubts and wonderings, are your 
creatures, and you are their creator, and therefore above them, 
even according to the verse you quote, ‘Exalted is God above 


538 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


that which they allege!’ Jesus, who is the Spirit of God (Rubw’Wah), 
passed into His Church and is manifested in them; therefore was 
it that when His Holiness, the Point of Revelation (z.e. the Bab) 
was asked ‘What are the Firangis?’ he replied, ‘They are Spirit.’ 
You ate to-day the Manifestation of Jesus, you are the Incarna- 
tion of the Holy Spirit, nay, did you but realise it, you are 
God!” 

“God forbid!” I exclaimed again, “speak not atter this im- 
pious fashion, and know that I regard myself as the least of God’s 
servants and the most inconsistent and unworthy of those who 
profess to take the Lord Jesus as their pattern and exemplar!” 

“<< Verily, I am a man like unto you!” shouted Sheykh Ibrahim; 
“thus said the Prophet, whose object, like all the prophets who 
preceded and followed him, was to make us men. So said Beha 
to me in Acte, ‘I desire that all men should become even as I 
am!’ If any one says that Beha has attained to anything where- 
unto we also may not attain, he lies and is an ignorant fool!” 
Here he glared fiercely round the assembly to see if anyone would 
venture to contradict him, and, as no one did so, continued: ““On 
the forehead of every man is written, in that writing whereof you 
wot, either ‘Hddhd Mu’min’ (‘This is a Believer’), or ‘Haddhd 
Kdfir’ (‘This is an Infidel’). On that side of your forehead un- 
covered by the bandage which you have bound over your eye 
I read ‘Hddhd Muv’..., and I know that were the bandage te- 
moved I should see ‘-mén’ written on the other side. O Jendb-i- 
Sdpib! OQ Hazrat-i-Firang! when you go back to Firangistan 
you must stir up trouble and mischief (/iiné a fasdd); you must 
make them all Babis.” 

They talked much after this fashion, while I listened in con- 
sternation, half-frightened at their vehemence, half-disgusted 
at their doctrines, yet withal held spell-bound by their eloquence. 
“Was this, then,” I thought to myself, “‘the root of the matter, 
the heart of that doctrine which promised so fairly, whereof the 
votaries whom I have hitherto met seemed so conspicuous for 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS $39 


their probity, piety, sobriety, and devoutness? Have I mistaken 
for a gleam of heaven-sent light a will-o’-the-wisp, born of the 
dead, disintegrated creeds of Mazdak and el-Mokanna‘, and the 
terrible ‘Old Man of the Mountain,’ before the daggers of whose 
emissaries the chivalry of East and West fell like the grass before 
the scythe of the mower? And have I tracked it onwards, step 
by step, only to find at last that its home is in this quagmire of 
antinomian anthropomorphism? Or are these indeed no more 
Babis than they are Muhammadans, but men who, in true Persian 
fashion, disguise atheism in the garb of religion, and bedeck it 
with the trinkets of a mystical terminology?” | 

At length, long after midnight, we adjourned for supper to 
the other buildings, and, ere the conclusion of the meal, Sheykh 
Ibrahim’s conversation grew so blasphemous and disgusting that 
on the first opportunity I arose and returned, distressed and 
angry, to the summer-house, followed by my guests. The 
merchant from Rafsinjan, whose conversation had throughout 
- been more moderate and reasonable than that of the others, and 
Fathu’lla4h, the minstrel, whose vehemence was the outcome of 
an emotional and excitable nature—not of wine, which he 
eschewed—noticed my disgust, and approached me to enquire 
its cause. 

“What is it that has offended me?” I replied: “What should 
it be but Sheykh Ibrahim’s disgusting behaviour? The all- 
controlling influence exerted by the Prophetic Word over the 
hearts of men is one of the chief proofs to which you appeal 
in support of your religion. Is not wine forbidden in your 
religion as rigorously as in Islam? What is the use of your 
professing all this devotion to him whom you regard as the 
Mouthpiece of God, and kissing the Kztdb-7-Akdas, which you 
regard as the Word of God, if you condone so gross a violation 
of the laws which it contains, and of all laws, whether of religion, 
ethics, or good taste?” 

Sheykh Ibrahim at this moment staggered up to us with cries 


540 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


of drunken defiance, and, laying his hand on my arm, demanded 
what we were talking about. I shook him from me with a 
gestute of uncontrollable loathing, and, followed by the other 
two, retired to a little distance from the summer-house. 

“You ate right,” they rejoined, as soon as we were out of 
Sheykh Ibrahim’s sight and hearing, ‘‘and the Sheykh’s conduct 
is to be deplored. But then old habits will force themselves 
to the surface at times, and, after all, to know and recognise the 
Truth is the great thing.” 

“But action is better than assent,” said I, “‘and to do 1s greater 
than to know. What think you of this parable which we find in 
out Gospels?”’ And I repeated to them the parable of the two 
sons bidden by their father to go and do his work, of whom the 
one said, “I go,” and went not, and the other said, “I will not 
go,” but afterwards went. 

“Ay,” said they, “but for all that, both were sons. Know- 

ledge is like a telescope, wherewith we view the distant Land of 
Promise. We may be standing in the mud, chilled by snow and 
sleet, or drenched with rain, yet with this telescope we may see 
and correctly describe the orange and myrtle-groves of the 
Promised Land. And this knowledge the Sheykh has none the 
less, because at times he wallows, as now, in the mud of 
sin.” 
- “But this vision of the Promised Land,” I replied, “is of 
no use unless you set out to reach it. Better is he who, without 
seeing it or knowing where it lies, faithfully follows one who will 
lead him thither, though he be compelled to walk blindly, than 
he who supinely gazes at it through this telescope.” 

They were silent for a while, distressed, as it seemed, at my 
distress, and somewhat ashamed of the Sheykh’s conduct. Then 
said the merchant of Rafsinjan:— 

“Sahib, we will now bid you farewell and depart, for see, the 
dawn grows bright in the sky, and we had best return.” 

“Nay,” I answered, fearing lest I had offended them, “tarry 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 541 


at least till the city-gates are open, and sleep for a while, and then 
depart in peace.” | 

But they would not be persuaded, and departed with sorrowful 
and downcast faces, all save Sheykh Ibrahim (who was in no 
condition to move) and ‘Abdu’lla4h, who would not forsake his 
friend. So I left these two in the summer-house, and went back to 
the room where we had eaten supper, and bathed my eye, which 
had again become very painful, and, after a time, fell asleep. 

It was the afternoon of the next day when I awoke, and 
learned with some relief that “Abdu’llah had departed soon after 
the other guests, and the Sheykh about noon. My eye was so 
painful that it was impossible to think of going out, and there 
was nothing to distract my attention from the pain which I 
suffered (for to read was, of course, impossible) till, about three 
hours before sunset, a telegram from my friend, the Chief of the 
Telegraph at Yezd, was brought to me, informing me that he 
had just received my letter and had answered it by that day’s post, 
and enquiring after my health. The telegram must have travelled 
_ very slowly, or the letter very fast, for hardly had I finished 
writing the answer to the former when the latter was brought 
by the postmaster of Kirman, who was accompanied by the 
young Babi merchant, Ak4é Muhammad Sddik. In the letter, 
which was most kindly worded, were enclosed copies of two 
poems for which I had asked—the one by Kurratu’l-“Ayn!, the 
other by Jenab-i-Maryam, the sister of the Bab’s first apostle, 
Mulla Huseyn of Bushraweyh. These I showed to my visitors, 
who read them with manifest delight, and, the subject being thus 
introduced, the conversation turned on the Babis, and especially 
on Kurratu’l-“Ayn, of whose death the postmaster gave me the 
following account, which he professed to have had from the lips 
of her gaoler, Mahmud Khan the Kalantar:— 


1 Of this poem, which is written in the same rhyme and metre as that 
translated at p. 535, supra, the text and translation will be found at pp. 314-16 
of vol. ii of my Traveller’s Narrative. 


542 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


“The day before she suffered martyrdom,” said the post- 
master, ‘‘she told those about her that her death was to take 
place, saying, ‘To-morrow evening the Shah will send after me, 
and his messenger will come riding, and will desire me to 
mount behind him. This I do not wish to do, wherefore I pray 
you to lend me one of your horses, and to send one of your 
servants to escort me.’ Next day all this came to pass. When 
she was brought in before the Shah in the palace of the Nig4ristan, 
and bidden to renounce the Bab, she refused, and persisted in 
her refusal. So she was cast into a well which is in the garden, 
and four large stones were thrown down upon her, and the well 
was then filled up with earth. As for Mahmud Khan, he was, 
as you know, strangled by order of the father of Prince Nasiru’d- 
Dawla, our governor, during the bread-riots in Teheran, and 
his body dragged by the feet through the streets and bazaars.” 

The postmaster also talked a little about the Ezelis, saying 
that they were more numerous in Kirman than anywhere else, 
and that even in Kirman they were but few in number. Amongst 
them he mentioned Fathu’ll4h, the minstrel, and a certain mul/d 
whom I will call Mulla Hadi, but the Sheykh of Kum he would 
not include in his enumeration, “for,” said he, “‘though he 
sympathises with the Ezelis and courts their society, he is in 
point of fact a free-thinker and a materialist.” After the de- 
parture of these guests I was visited by my Zoroastrian friends, 
Gushtasp and Feridin, who came to condole with me, and to 
enquire after the ophthalmia, repeating over and over again, 
“Bad na-bdshad!” (“May it not end ill!”’), till I was depressed 
not a little. 

Monday, 8th July, 28th Shawwal.—This morning I received a 
visit from one Murtaz4-kuli Khan Afshar, who, soon after 
his arrival, produced a great roll of verse in manuscript, from 


1 The accounts of Kurratu’l-‘Ayn’s death are very various, but this one, 
at least, I do not regard as having any claims to authenticity. Cf. Gobineau’s 
Religions et Philosophies dans l’ Asie Centrale, pp. 292-95 ; Polak’s Persien, vol. i, 
p. 353; and my Ivaveller’s Narrative, vol. ii, pp. 313, 314. 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 543 


which he proceeded to read me selections. This verse was, I 
fancy, his own composition, but about the writer I could learn 
no more than that his poetical pseudonym (takhallus) was 
Béi-nawd, and that he was still living. My visitor was very anxious 
to give me the manuscript, so that I might take it back with me 
to Europe and get it printed, but I excused myself, assuring 
him that it could be better and more conveniently published in 
Persia. In point of fact it was not worth publishing anywhere, 
being remarkable only for its monotonous harping on the topics 
of death, corruption, and the torments of hell, and for its badness 
of taste and poverty of style. Over and over again was this idea 
repeated in substance: ““How many moon-faced beauties, whose 
statute was as that of the cypress tree, have gone down into the 
erave with only scorpions, snakes, worms, and ants for their 
companions in their narrow bed!” Only one poem, in praise of 
the reigning king, offered the least variety. This began with 
an account of the Shah’s travels in Europe, which was followed 
by a description of the Babi rising and its suppression, a long 
_ passage being devoted to Kurratu’l-‘Ayn. My visitor remained 
with me for some time after I had succeeded in checking this 
recitation of doggerel, but his conversation was not much more 
lively than his verse, for he talked of nothing else but the horrors 
of hell and the delights of paradise, both of which he depicted 
in the crudest and most grossly material colours. 

Tuesday, 9th July, 29th Shawwdl.—This evening I was again 
the guest of the Zoroastrians at the garden of Mulla Serush, and 
sat down to supper with some twenty-five followers of ‘the 
Good Religion.” The evening passed much as usual, with wine, 
song, and minstrelsy, save that one Firiz by name, having taken 
rather more to drink than was good for him (a rare thing amongst 
the Zoroasttians), favoured the company with a rather vulgar 
imitation of the performances of dancing-boys.. There was some 
talk of Zoroaster and the miracles ascribed to him, and of the 
descent to earth of ten flames (ddhar), distinguished from fire (dfash) 


544 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


by being devoid of all property of scorching or burning. Three 
of these, so my hosts informed me, had returned to heaven, and 
one had in recent times migrated from Khurasan, where it 
suffered neglect, to Yezd. It was not till after midnight that I was 
suffered to depart, and then only on giving a promise that I 
would return first thing the next morning. 

It was on this night that a jerk of the chain which I had 
suffered Sir Opium to wind round me, first made me conscious 
of the fact that I had dallied over-long with him. Eight days 
had now elapsed since this dalliance began, and, though I had 
smoked what may well be termed “‘the Pipe of Peace” pretty 
regularly during this period, the fact that once or twice I had 
abstained from smoking it at the usual time, without suffering 
inconvenience, had lulled me into a false sense of security. 
“After all,” I had said to myself, “‘a great deal of exaggeration 
is current about these things; for how few of those in England 
who talk so glibly about the evils of optum-smoking, and waste 
their time and other people’s money in trying to put a stop to 
it, have any practical acquaintance at all with it; and, on the 
other hand, how many of my friends here, when they feel de- 
pressed and wottied, or want to pass a quiet evening with a 
few congenial friends in discussing metaphysics and ontology, 
indulge in an occasional pipe. However, this resolution I make, 
that on the day when I shall be well enough to go out of this 
garden I lay aside my pretty opium-pipe (vdfur), with its skp 
(cleaning rod) and its anbur (charcoal tongs), which shall be to 
me thenceforth but as curiosities to hang up in my college rooms 
when I get back to Cambridge.” 

Well, to-night, as I reluctantly admitted to myself, the time 
had come to put my resolution into practice. And how did I 
do it? I kept it, after a fashion, just for that one night—and 
what a night it was! In vain I longed for sleep, in vain I tossed 
to and fro on my couch till the stars grew pale in the sky, for 
an indefinable craving, to which was presently superadded a 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS . 545 


general sense of uneasiness pervading all the facial nerves, 
wartred with the weariness which possessed me. I was ashamed 
to wake my servant and bid him kindle a fire, else had my 
resolution not held even for one night; indeed, as it was, it can 
hardly be said to have held, since at last in desperation I drenched 
some tobacco in laudanum, taken from the little medicine-chest 
I had with me, rolled it into a cigarette, and tried, though with 
but little satisfaction, to smoke it. 

And this is the way of optum. You may smoke it occasionally 
at long intervals, and feel no after-craving. You may smoke it 
for two or three days consecutively, and abandon it without 
difficulty; then you may, after an interval of one or two days, 
do the like once more, and again forsake it; and then, having 
smoked it once or twice again, you will try to put it from you 
as before, and you will find you cannot—that the fetters are 
forged which, likely enough, you will wear for ever. So next 
day I relapsed into bondage, and, when a few days later I told 
my plight to a friend of mine (the Prince’s secretary and an Ezeli 
Babi), who was a confirmed “vdfir7” (opium-smoker), he clapped 
his hand on his thigh and exclaimed, “‘ Ha/d digar guzasht!. Vafuri 
shudée-id!” “Now, at any rate, it is all over! You have become 
an opium-smoker!”’). Neither did he say this without a certain 
ait of contentment, if not of exultation; for it is a curious fact 
that, although the optum-smoker will, as a rule, never tire of 
abusing his tyrant, he will almost always rejoice to see another 
led into the same bondage, and will take the new captive by the 
hand as a brother. 

Thursday, t1th July, 2nd Dhi’l-ka‘da.—Last night I received a 
telegram from Shiraz informing me that a telegram addressed 
to me there had arrived from England, in which I was requested 
to signify my acceptance of the post of Persian Lecturer, to which 
I had been appointed at Cambridge. Accordingly, I went into 
the city an hour or two after sunrise to despatch an answer. Near 
the Mosque Gate I met Usta Akbar, the pea-parcher, who invited 

B 35 


546 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


me to lunch with him when I had completed my business. I 
readily accepted his invitation, and walked with him to his shop, 
where I stayed talking with him for a few minutes. A young 
Tabrizi named Rahman Beg was there, and Usta Akbar, pointing 
at him, asked me jestingly, “whether I could make this Turk a 
Babi?” 

My business at the telegraph-office did not take long. The 
telegram, though destined for England, had, of course, to be 
written in Persian, and I managed to condense it, including 
the address, into seven words, for which I paid twenty krdus 
and thirteen shdhis (about 165. 6d.), the tariff having luckily been 
reduced within the last few days. I then returned to Usta Akbat’s 
house and had lunch with him, after which I wrote some letters, 
including one to Prince Nasiru’d-Dawla, the governor. In this 
I ventured to say a few wotds in favour of Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz 
(at whose urgent request, supported by Seyyid Huseyn of 
Jandak, I had been induced to take what certainly was rather a 
liberty), asking the Prince, in case he could not find him employ- 
ment, whether he would give him the means of teaching his 
native town of Tabriz, where he had friends and relatives. 

I stayed to supper with Usta Akbar, Fathu’ll4h, the Ezeli 
minstrel, being the only other guest. We ate our meal on the roof 
(for it was a beautiful moonlight night), and sat so late talking, 
drinking tea, and smoking opium, that, as the time for shutting 
the city-gates had long passed, I agreed to my host’s proposal 
that I should spend the night there. Bolsters, pillows, and quilts 
were accordingly brought up on to the roof, but, though our 
host soon composed himself to sleep, I sat late talking to the 
Ezeli. [asked him to tell me how he had become a Babi, and he 
related as follows:— 

“A yeat or two ago,” he began, “I fell desperately in love; 
so that, on the rare occasions when my good fortune suffered 
me to pass a few moments in the presence of my beloved, I was 
for the most part as one annihilated and overcome with bewilder- 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 547 


ment, submerged in the ocean of adoration, and repeating in the 
language appropriate to my condition Sheykh Sa‘di’s lines— 
°* Ajab-ast bd vujudat ki vujud-t-man bi-mdnad; 
Tn bi-guftan andar a’t, 4 mara sukhan bi-manad!? 
“The wonder is that I survive the while I gaze on thee; 
That thou should’st speak, and power of speech should still be left to me!’ 


Or, as another has said— 
‘ Agar khwaham gham-i-dil bd tu guiyam, ja nami-ydbam; 
Agar ja’i kunam peydd, turd tanhd nami-yabam; 
Agar tanhd turd ydbam, va jd’i ham kunam peydd, 
Zi shddi dast u pd gum mt-kunam, khud-ra namt-ydbam I” 
‘I find no place where I to thee my passion may declare, 
Or, if I find the place, with thee I find my rival there, 
Or, if at length I find a place, and find thee there alone, 
In vain I seek myself, for self has melted into air!’ 
But more often it happened that I was compelled to bear with 
separation, and then I would console myself as best I might by 
reading and singing the odes of Sa‘di, which seemed to me 
specially applicable to my condition. 
“Now one day a friend of mine begged me to lend him my 
Divdn of Sa‘di, promising to give me instead another and a 
better book. With some reluctance I consented to the exchange, 
and received from him the mystical Masnavi of Jalalu’d-Din 
Rumi. When I began to read this, I at first bitterly repented the 
bargain. ‘What is all this,’ I asked myself, ‘about the flute 
making lamentation because of its separation from the reed-bed— 
and what has it to do with me?’ But gradually the inner meaning 
began to dawn upon me; the love of the True and Eternal 
Beloved displaced from my heart the earthly passion which had 
filled it; and I realised the meaning of what the mystics say, ‘E/ 
Mejdzu kantaratu’l-Hakikat’ (‘the Phenomenal is the Bridge to 
the Real:). Yes, 
* [mrux Shab-i-anjuman-i-dilbaran yakist, 
Dilbar agar hazdr buvad, dilbar an_yakist. 
Man behr-i-an_yaki du jihan dada-am bi-bdd ; 
“Aybam ma-kun, ki hdsil-i har du jihin yakist, 


ce ees 


548 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


‘To-day, at the Feast of Fair ones, to One is assigned the Throne, 

For though of the fair there are thousands there, in beauty He stands 

For er forsake this world and that, and am counted in both undone; 

Withhold your blame, nor think it shame, for the sum of the worlds is One.’ 

“One day, passing by the city-gate, I heard a man reading 
from a book which he held in his hand. The sweetness of 
the words and their dignity charmed me, and I stopped to ask 
him what book it was. At first he appeared unwilling to tell 
me, but at length, yielding to my persuasion, he told me that 
it was the Beydn of Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad, the Bab. He con- 
sented to lend me the book for a while; and as I read it my 
assutance increased that this indeed was the Word of God.” 

“What, then, think you of Beha?” I demanded, “for these 
would make him greater than the Bab.” | 

“T know not,” he replied; “for me the Bab sufficeth, neither 
can I comprehend a station higher than His.” 

Friday, 12th July, 3rd Dhi’l-ka‘da.—\ woke late, and found that 
Fathu’llah and Usta Akbar had both gone out, the latter leaving 
word that he would return soon. An old man named Mirza 
Ja‘far, a dervish of the Dhahabi order, presently arrived. He told 
me that he was at present engaged in fasting and other religious 
exercises, and that he had an “Inner Light.” Presently Usta 
Akbar returned with a shoemaker of his acquaintance, named 
Ustaé Ghul4m Riz4, who brought with him a book of verses 
composed in praise of Beha by the Babi poet Nabil. These, 
which in their eulogies were fulsome beyond belief, he proceeded 
to read, the pea-parcher encouraging him with occasional ex- 
clamations of “‘Zibd mi-khwdnad!” (“He does read nicely!’’). 
During a momentary pause the Dhahabi dervish ventured to 
make some remarks containing an allusion to his “Inner Light,” 
whereupon the shoemaker turned savagely upon him, crying— 

“Who cares for your “Inner Light,’ owl and bat that you are? 
The Sun of Truth shines radiant in the mid-heaven of the 
Theophany, and do you dare obtrude your foolish fancies and 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 549 


vain imaginings, or seek to distract us thereby from that which 
will truly advantage us?” 

At this arrogant and insolent speech anger overcame me, and 
I said to the shoemaker— 

“Silence! How dare you speak in so unseemly a manner to 
this old man, who, according to his belief, is seeking to draw 
near to God? After all, age is revered and courtesy of de- 
meanour approved in every religion, and you do but ill commend 
to others the creed which you profess by conduct such as this.” 
Then the shoemaker hung his head and was silent. 

On my way home I called on Ak&é Muhammad Sadik, the 
young Babi merchant, at the caravansaray where he dwelt, and 
he, on learning that I had taken to smoking opium, entreated 
me to abandon it ere it was too late. He also begged me to 
lend him the manuscript of the Kitdb-i-Akdas (“Most Holy 
Book”’) which had been given to me at Shiraz, that he might 
transcribe it for himself, and this request, at least, I was ready 
to grant, though the other, as I began to fear, came too late. 

When I returned to my garden about sundown I found that 
_Seyyid Huseyn of Jandak had been several times to see me, 
and had enquired most persistently as to my whereabouts; and 
that Sheykh Ibrahim, his friend “Abdu’llah, and a dervish who 
had brought me a present of apples, were still patiently awaiting 
my attival. I found them sitting by one of the streamlets near 
the summert-house, and half a glance sufficed to show me that 
that Sheykh, at least, was a good deal the worse for drink. As 
I approached he greeted me with a loud screech of welcome, and 
strove to stagger to his feet, but quickly subsided into the ex- 
pectant arms of ‘Abdu’ll4h, crooning out a couplet from the 
Masnavi, which, when he was in this state, he never tired of 
Ome “* Badé ney dar har sari shar mi-kunad ; 


Auchundn-rd dnchundn-tar mi-kunad.” 


“Tis not in every head that wine works ill; 
That which is so, it maketh more so still.” 


550 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


After informing me with some incoherence that he was 
charged with a message to me from one of the principal 
physicians of Kirm4n inviting me to lunch with him on the 
following day, he continued, chuckling to himself at the 
reminiscence— 

“Your friend the Seyyid of Azghand” (so he chose to call 
him, confounding this place with Jandak, which was in reality 
his birthplace) “has been here, but 1, your most humble servant 
and sincere friend Sheykh Ibrahim (now, as you perceive, not 
quite himself), have put him to flight, together with another 
rascally Seyyid whom he brought with him.” 

“T wish you would not insult my guests,” said I. ““Who was 
this other Seyyid?”’ 

“How do I know?” he shouted defiantly; “‘all I know is 
this, that just outside the garden-gate he was attacked by a 
sinoularly intelligent dog, and came in here shaking with fright. 
When he had somewhat recovered, he and the Azghandi Seyyid 
began talking about you. ‘What like is this Firangi?’ enquired 
he. ‘Not a bit like other Firangis,’ replied the Azehandi, ‘inas- 
much as, instead of going after old tiles and other rubbish such 
as they mostly love, he goes after religions, and consorts with 
Musulmans, Sheykhis and Balasaris, Sufis, and even Zoro- 
astrians.’ ‘How about Babis?’ asked the other. ‘How should I 
know?’ says the Azghandi. ‘My brother when on a journey once 
occupied the opposite litter (kajdvé) to the chief of their gang,’ 
continued he. Then I felt it was high time to put him to rights 
a bit, so I said, “You ugly, wizened old fox (for, in the World of 
Similitudes I behold you as such, and so did that most sagacious 
dog who wished to tear you in pieces at the door, in which wish 
I hope he may be more successful when you depart), what do 
you know about Babis, and how dare you speak of one whose 
greatness and glory far transcend your mean comprehension 
in such disrespectful terms?’ I saw him change colour, and soon 
after he left, without waiting for the tea which your excellent 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 551 


servant Haji Safar was preparing for him. Haji Safar! Haji 
Safar! Where is Haji Safar?” 

Haji Safar approached. He was sulky and morose, offended, as it 
appeared, at my having remained so long away without telling him 
where I had gone, and grumbledaccordingly. I bade him be silent, 
and Sheykh Ibrahim continued in a loud and aggressive tone— 

“T have heard from the postmaster how he surprised you in 
close confabulation with those foul and benighted Ezelis at 
the house of the Sheykh of Kum. Mulla Hadi, a noted Ezeli, 
was there, and you were talking glibly enough when the post- 
master entered, but, on seeing him, you at once changed the 
conversation.” 

Presently, to my great relief, Sheykh [brahim and ‘Abdu’llah 
rose to depart. As they were leaving, Haji Safar met us, and 
again complained of my want of consideration for him in leaving 
him ignorant of my whereabouts. Sheykh Ibrahim loudly 
applauded his solicitude, which I, on the other hand, was in- 
clined to resent as impertinence. In consequence, we had words, 
and he threatened to leave me on the morrow and return to 
Teheran; but later on, when he brought my supper, he had 
repented of his decision, and offered an apology for his conduct, 
explaining it by saying that he had just had news that his mother 
was seriously ill, and that this had greatly disturbed his mind, 
and caused him to forget himself. 

Saturday, 13th Jmy, 4th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—According to my pto- 
mise, I lunched to-day with the physician of whom I have 
already spoken. On my arrival I found Sheykh Ibrahim (already 
much disguised in liquor) and ‘Abdu’llah, together with my 
host and his little boy, a pretty child of eight or nine years of 
age, who amused us by repeating ‘Obeyd-i-Zakani’s celebrated 
poem of “the Cat and the Mouse” (Mash-u-gurbé). In the evening 
I was the guest of my host’s rival, a physician of the old Galenic 
school, with a splendid contempt for the new-fangled doctrines 
of pathology and treatment which are beginning to make way 


552 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


amongst the medical men of Teheran. His son was a determined 
Babi, and confided to me his intention of running away from 
Kirmdn and setting out alone and on foot for Acre. Ustaé Akbar 
joined us presently, and after supper we sat late, talking, drinking 
tea, and smoking opium. 

Sunday, 14th July, 5th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—Soon after we had drunk 
our morning tea I left, and paid a visit to one of my Ezeli friends, 
the Prince’s secretary, who invited me to stay to lunch. In the 
intervals of conversation he amused himself by making the tea- 
glasses float in the little tank which occupied the middle of the 
room, pushing them from one side to the other, and objurgating 
them with shouts of “Gar-i-pidar-ash la‘nat!” (“Curses on the 
etave of its father!”’), when, receiving too violent a push, 
they filled with water and sank to the bottom. On returning 
to the garden about sunset I found that a number of visitors, 
including the postmaster and two of his men, the Prince- 
Telegraphist, the insufferable Haji Muhammad Khan, and 
Mulla Yusuf and Fathu’llah, the Ezelis, had been to see me, 
while the Sheykh of Kum and one of his friends were still 
awaiting my atrival. The Sheykh brought me a photograph 
of Prince Nasiru’d-Dawla bearing an inscription in his own hand, 
together with a very kind answer to the letter which I had 
addressed to him some days previously’ concerning Mirza Yusuf 
of Tabriz. ‘This letter, even after making a large deduction for 
Persian politeness, was so gratifying that I cannot forbear 
translating it— 


““My dear and respected Friend, 


“From the receipt of your letter, and the perusal of the pleasing con- 
tents of your script, I derived the utmost gratification. My delight at the 
handwriting and coherent diction of that honoured friend was chiefly owing 
to the fact that it is in Europe that you have thus perfectly acquired the 
Persian language, and have obtained so thorough a mastery of composition 
and style. May God, if it so please Him, bring this dear friend of mine safely 
back to his native country, and gladden him with the sight of his honourable 
father and mother and kindred! Iregret having met that dear friend so seldom, 
nor has your sojourn in Kirman been of any length; yet such is the regard 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 553 


which I have conceived for you during this short period that it will never 
quit my heart. 
* Hamtshé dar barabar-t-chashmam musavvart. 
“Thy face will stand depicted for ever in my sight.’ 


I shall ever supplicate God for your safety and advancement, and I shall 
be much pleased if now and then a letter from you should reach me from 
Firangistan. As for Mirza Yusuf, the request of that honoured friend is 
of course most gladly granted by me, and I have ordered that he shall receive 
money for the expenses of his journey....I send a portrait of myself as a 
keepsake for that dear friend.” 


When I had read this letter, the Sheykh of Kum informed 
Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz that fifteen timdns (about £5) was the 
sum assigned to him by the Prince. Mirza Yusuf was, of course, 
overjoyed, and Seyyid Huseyn of Jandak, who had interested 
himself a good deal in the matter, was also very pleased, “‘but,”’ 
said he to me, “don’t suppose that these fifteen timdns were 
given to Mirza Yusuf; they were given to you, and the obligation 
lies on your neck, for so much money was not raised in Kirman 
save at the price of blood.” This, of course, was a mere figure 
of speech, yet it somewhat damped my joy, and would have 
done so more had I known how worthless Mirza Yusuf would 
prove himself. 

Monday, 15th July, 6th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—To-day I lunched with the 
Sheykh of Kum, where I met the young Ezeli artillery officer 
of whom I have already spoken. After lunch the Prince’s head- 
cook dropped in. He was an amusing fellow, and had seen 
something of the world, having been for some time a servant at 
the Persian Embassy in London, in the remembrance of which 
he gloried. It was he, I found, who had prepared the elaborate 
meal of which I had partaken with the Prince-Governor, for he 
had learned the art of European cookery while in London, 
though, as he told me, the ambassador, unless he had company, 
generally preferred to have Persian dishes set before him. I 
asked him whether the materials for these were generally forth- 
coming in London. “Oh yes,” he replied, “‘I found them with- 
out much difficulty in the shops, but of course I made the 


554 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


ambassador pay well for them. I would buy egg-plants (bddinjan), 
for instance, at a few pence each, and when I returned I would 
tell him with a long face that things were terribly dear here, 
and that I had paid a shilling apiece for them. Yes, those were 
fine times, and I wish I were back in London again.” 

The cook presently departed, and the Sheykh began to speak 
mote freely about Beha than he had hitherto done. He produced 
a copy of the lithographed Bombay edition of the [kd, which 
he told me had been sent him by the Behd’is, and pointed out 
with great disapproval a passage where the Shi‘ites are called 
“that foul and erring sect.” He also showed me some letters 
addressed to him and other Ezelis by Beha, and took great ex- 
ception to several passages in them, especially to one where 
Beha said, ‘A child who has been blessed by beholding me is 
greater than all the people of the Beyd4n.”” Then he gave me an 
account of the attempt on the Shah’s life by the Babis in 1852, 
which I will not repeat here, as I have already published it in the 
second volume of my Traveller’s Narrative (pp. 323-4). The 
young artillery officer told me that for four years he had in vain 
sought to enter into relations with the Babis, and had only 
succeeded at last by acquainting himself with a part of their 
terminology, and so leading some of his acquaintances whom he 
believed to be adherents of the sect to make open confession of 
their doctrines in his presence. 

Tuesday, 16th July, 7th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—This afternoon I paid a 
visit to Mirza Jawad’s house. He himself was away, but I found 
his son and one or two other boys reading with their tutor, 
Mull4 Ghulam Huseyn, who, on my arrival, at once dismissed 
the class. I made some further enquiries of him concerning the 
Sheykhi literature, and he gave me the following supplementary 
list of books:—By Sheykh Ahmad Ahs4’i, ““The Commentary 
on the ‘Visitation’” (Sharh-i-Ziydrat) and the Favd’id (text and 
commentary) in Arabic, and the ‘‘Aphorisms” (Jawdmi‘u’/- 
kaldm) in Persian; by Haji Seyyid Kazim of Resht, the Com- 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 555 


mentary on ‘Ali’s sermon called the ‘ Khutba-i-Tutunjiyya,’ and the 
“Commentary on the Kasida”; by Haji Muhammad Karim 
Khan, the Fasl’-kbitdb (on Tradition), the Irshddu’ l/l‘ Awdmm 
(“Direction of the Common People”’), the Tartku’n-najdt (“Way 
of Salvation”), the Ixhdku’/-Batil (“Crushing of Falsehood”’), 
and the T7zr-i-Shibdb (“ Meteor-bolt”’), both directed against the 
Babis, the Fitratu’s-salima (“Sound disposition”), the Nusratu’d- 
Din (“Help of Religion”), and the Sadniyya, an Apology for 
Islam, written in Persian. 

Wednesday, 17th July, 8th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—This morning, before I 
was dressed, Seyyid Huseyn of Jandak came to see me. While he 
was with me, an old man named Mashhadf ‘Ali, who kept a 
shop just outside the city-gate, came to lodge a complaint 
against Na’ib Hasan’s brother, a muleteer whom I had some 
thoughts of engaging for the journey to Shiraz. He was accom- 
panied by a farrdsh sent by the vazir (who, in the absence of the 
Prince-Governor, was administering justice), and his complaint 
was that he had been subjected to a violent and unprovoked 
attack on the part of Na’ib Hasan’s brother, for which he 
demanded redress. He had been before the vazér, who said that, 
as the defendant was in some sort under my protection, he would 
prefer to leave his punishment to me; but that he hoped I would 
inflict the bastinado upon him, if the complainant could prove 
his case to my satisfaction. Now, I have no doubt that the var 
meant kindly, but I could not help wishing he would execute 
whatever he conceived to be justice according to his own lights, 
without making me a judge and arbiter over his subjects—a 
position which I was very far from coveting. The Seyyid, how- 
evet, who saw only an unhoped-for opportunity of displaying 
his Solomon-like wisdom and delivering some epoch-making 
decision, was delighted, and bade Haji Safar bring the com- 
plainant, the defendant, the farrdsh, and any witnesses who might 
be forthcoming, before us. The defendant was luckily away in 
the country, and as the only “‘ witness” (if such he could be called, 


556 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


for it did not appear that he knew anything more about the case 
than that the defendant was his cousin, and therefore, in his view, 
to be exculpated) was Haji Safar, our little tribunal was of very 
modest dimensions. The “case,”? however, lasted some time, 
the complainant, the “witness,” and the farrdsh all talking at 
once, and the first two sweating to everything and at everybody, 
so that even the loquacious Seyyid could hardly make himself 
heard. At last, however, silence was obtained, and the Seyyid, 
with great gravity, gave it as his decision that Na’ib Hasan’s 
brother should give the defendant a new shirt as a token of 
regret for his alleged violence, on condition that the charge 
should be suffered to drop; and that the farrdsh should receive 
a present in money from me for his trouble. And as this seemed 
the easiest way out of the difficulty, it was unanimously agreed 
to. I hope the old man got his shirt, but I cannot be sure of it, 
as the farrdsh, having received his money, naturally lost all 
further interest in the case. I wished to give the old man the 
price of his shirt, but this the Seyyid would not permit, declaring 
that the farrdsh would certainly take it from him. 

I had lunch when the Seyyid left, and then began to write 
in Persian an account of my travels for the Prince-Governor, 
who had requested me to furnish him with a brief narrative of 
my journey. About two hours befote sunset, however, the 
Seyyid came back, bringing with him two books, one a book of 
his own composition, called Vérduiyyé, and the other one of Haji 
Muhammad Karim Khan’s refutations of Babi doctrine, from 
both of which he read to me aloud. I was laughing in my sleeve 
at the garbled account given by the Sheykhi leader of his rival’s 
life and pretensions, when suddenly the Seyyid stopped reading, 
pticked up his ears, and began to gaze intently in the direction 
of the gate, whence arose mirthful peals of laughter, mingled 
with the notes of a flute. 

“What is this unseemly noise?” he enquired angrily. 

The question was answered a moment later by the appearance 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 557 


of Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz, mounted on a white ass, fully capa- 
tisoned and laden with saddle-bags and other properties. He 
advanced towards the summet-house at a rapid amble, and, after 
displaying himself before us to his satisfaction, dismounted, 
seated himself before us with a conceited smirk, and awaited 
our congratulations. At this juncture, almost before the 
Seyyid had recovered power of speech, Sheykh Ibrahim 
joined us. 

“““Tiasten to the flute when it tells its tale!’”’ cried the Seyyid, 
as soon as he could speak; “what does all this mean, Mirza Yusuf? 
Where did you get that donkey?” 

“T bought it,” replied Mirza Yusuf, “with the money His 
Royal Highness the Prince (may God prolong his life!) bestowed 
upon me.” 

“Bought it!” exclaimed the Seyyid, “why, you were a pauper, 
and this money, only granted you at the urgent request of the 
Sahib (on whose neck lies the burden of obligation to the Prince), 
was intended to convey you to Tabriz. And the saddle, the 
saddle-bags, your smart kamar-band, and your other gear, how 
did you get them?” 

“T bought them too,” answered Mirza Yusuf, pertly enough; 
“how else should I come by them? You don’t suppose I stole 
them?” 

“You bought them too!” repeated the Seyyid. “And may I 
ask how much money you have left out of the fifteen témdns 
the Prince gave you?” | 

Mirza Yusuf pulled out three or four krdus from his pocket. 
“So much,” he replied. 

“And how are you going to get to Tabriz, may I ask, with 
three krdns?”’ demanded the Seyyid. 

“On my donkey,” retorted Mirza Yusuf with a laugh; “what 
else did I get it for?”? No doubt he cherished hopes of extracting 
further sums of money from the charitable Babis of Yezd, ac- 
cording to the plan which he had exposed with such refreshing 


558 | AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


simplicity to Sheykh Ibrahim and myself. But he could hardly 
allude to this in the Seyyid’s presence. 

“You impertinent little fool!” cried the Seyyid angrily; 
“is it for this that I have interested myself in your case—you 
who two days ago were so humble—‘a poor orphan whom none 
would pity!’—you who would make me believe that you were 
so cateful about your religious duties that Haji Safar’s occasional 
neglect of his prayers pained your tender conscience, and who 
now come prancing into my presence on your precious ass deaf- 
ening me with your unrighteous flute-playing?” 

“You don’t understand these things, Master Seyyid,” rejoined 
Mirza Yusuf; “you are not a man of the world, but a recluse, 
a man of the pen and the pulpit, a votary of the rosary and the 
reading-desk.”’ And he made a grimace aside to Sheykh Ibrahim, 
whom he expected to enlist on his side against the common 
enemy. 

For once, however, the Sheykh was at one with the Seyyid. 
“Tt is related,” said he, sententiously, “that once the ass com- 
plained to God, saying, ‘Why hast Thou created me, seeing 
that Thou hast already created the Turk?’ Answer came, ‘Verily 
We have created the Turk in order that the excellence of thine 
understanding might be apparent.’ Mirza Yusuf is a Turk, a 
Tabrizi. What would you have?” 

So Mirza Yusuf, somewhat abashed, withdrew; and there- 
upon, as I anticipated, the Sheykh and the Seyyid began to 
quarrel about the manner in which the former had seen fit to 
treat the friend of the latter on the previous Friday. The Seyyid 
for his part was politely sarcastic. 

““T said to my friend,” quoth he, “‘You have had the mis- 
fortune to displease the worthy Sheykh, no doubt inadvertently, 
by talking of one whom he affects to revere with unbecoming 
levity, and applying to him an appellation generally used of 
robber captains and the like. It would be best for you to pro- 
pitiate him by presenting to him one of those inlaid and en- 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 559 


amelled pen-cases in the manufacture of which you ate so skilful.’ 
He promised to follow my advice, and you may expect to receive 
his gift shortly.” 

“You are too considerate,” rejoined the Sheykh, “but really 
I am unworthy of so great an honour.” Then, suddenly losing 
control of his tongue, “‘And who, I should like to know, is this 
rascally brother of his who enjoyed the unmerited and un- 
appreciated honour of travelling in the company of one whose 
ereatness and holiness are as much beyond his comprehension 
as the splendour of the sun is beyond the comprehension of the 
bat or the mole? I will tell you who he is: he is now at Teheran, 
and makes his living by buffoonery of the lowest kind, and the 
Shah, who loves buffoonery, especially in a Seyyid, has given 
him the title of Kiwdmu’s-Sdddt. There is another younger brother, 
who is in high favour with certain of the nobles about the court, 
and whose influence has conduced in no small degree to the 
exaltation of his family.” 

“And do you mean to say,” enquited the Seyyid, aghast at 
the scandalous details of Persian Court life furnished by the 
Sheykh, “that this is the state of things prevailing in Teheran, 
‘the abode of the Caliphate’ (Daru’/-Khildfat), at the court of 
him whom we account the Defender of the Faith and Protector 
- of Religion?” 

““Assuredly I do,” replied the Sheykh, “‘and I can tell you 
mote sutprising things than this if you care to hear them, from 
which you will be better able to judge of the claims which 
Nasiru’d-Din Shah has to these titles.” And thereupon he 
launched out into a variety of scandalous anecdotes, which it 
is to be hoped had no foundation in fact, and which in any 
case ate best unrecorded. Neither could he be diverted from 
this topic till the Seyyid departed in consternation, an object at 
which, in all probability, he had from the first aimed. 

“And now, Sheykh,” I said, when we were alone, “will you 
tell me more fully about the murder of the seven Ezelis who 


b) 


560 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


were sent with Beha and his followers to Acre? You mentioned 
the fact a few days ago, and added that you had seen the assassins 
yourself during your stay there, and that they still received their 
prison allowance, though at large, and wore gyves on their 
ankles.” 

“Yes,” replied the Sheykh, who had drunk enough ‘arak 
to tender him communicative, and not enough to make him 
incoherent, “they were twelve in number who slew the Ezelis, 
and nine of them were still living when I was at Acre. This 
was the way of it. When Beha advanced his claim at Adrianople, 
and his half-brother, Subh-i-Ezel, refused to admit it, the Babis 
were divided into two factions, some going with the former, 
and some holding fast to the latter. So high did the feeling run 
that the matter ended in open strife, and two Ezelis and one 
Beha’i were killed. So the Turkish Government determined to 
separate the two, and arranged to banish Mirza Yahya (Subp-z- 
Exel) and his followers to a town in Cyprus near the sea-shote, 
of which I cannot now remember the name, and Mirza Huseyn 
“Ali (Behd’w’Hah), with his family and adherents, to Acre. But, 
knowing the two factions to be on the worst possible terms, it 
occuttred to them that it would be advantageous to themselves 
to keep a few of each in the stronghold of the other, so that, 
should any Persian or other traveller come to Acre or Cyprus 
with the intention of visiting Beha or Ezel, these adherents of 
the rival claimant to supreme power might co-operate with the 
government in throwing obstacles in his way. So they sent three 
of Beha’s followers (one of whom, Mushkin-Kalam, so-called 
from his extraordinary skill in calligraphy, is still [1892] alive) to 
Cyprus with Ezel, and seven Ezelis with Beha to Acre. 

“Now as far as concerned Ezel this plan worked well enough, 
for Mushkin-Kalam set up a little coffee-house at the port where 
travellers must needs arrive, and whenever he saw a Persian 
land, he would invite him in, give him tea or coffee and a pipe, 
and gradually worm out of him the business which had brought 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 561 


him thither. And if his object were to see Subh-i-Ezel, off went 
Mushkin-Kalam to the authorities, and the pilgrim soon found 
himself packed out of the island. But at Acre it was. different. 
The seven Ezelis—Aka Jan, called ‘Kaj-Kuldh’ (‘Skew-Cap’), 
who had served with distinction in the Turkish artillery; Haji 
Seyyid Muhammad of Isfahan, one of the original companions 
of the Bab; Mirza Riza, nephew of the last, and a scion of the 
same royal race of the Safavis (for both were descended from Shah 
‘Abbas the Great); Mirza Haydar ‘Ali of Ardistan, a wonderful 
fire-brand (dtashi gharib), beside whom our mutual friend Mirza 
Muhammad Bakir of Bawanat was no more than a spark; Haji 
Seyyid Huseyn of Kashan; and two others, whose names I 
forget—lived all together in a house situated near the gate of 
the city. Well, one night, about a month after their arrival at 
Acre, the twelve Beha’is of whom I have spoken determined (but 
without having received instructions from Beha) to kill them, 
and so prevent them from doing any mischief. So they went 
at night, armed with swords and daggers, to the house where: 
the Ezelis lodged, and knocked at the door. Akad Jaén came 
_ down to open to them, and was stabbed before he could cry 
out ot offer the least resistance. He was a young man, but 
vety strong, so that once in the Russian war he had without 
aid picked up a cannon-ball and thrown it into the mouth of 
the gun. Then they entered the house and killed the other six. 

“When the Turks heard what had been done, they im- 
prisoned Beha and all his family and followers in the caravan- 
satay, but the twelve assassins came forward and surrendered 
themselves, saying, ‘We killed them without the knowledge of 
out Master or any of our brethren; punish us, then, not them.’ 
So they were imprisoned for a while; but afterwards, at the 
intercession of ‘Abbas Efendi, Beha’s eldest son, were suffered 
to be at large, on condition only of ee in Acre, and 
wearing steel fetters on their ankles for a time.’ 

“Tt was a horrible deed,” I remarked. 

B 36 


562 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


“Nay,” said the Sheykh, “it was soon over for them; I have 
seen worse than that myself. Love cannot exist without strife, 
and, as has been said, ‘affliction is the portion of affection.’” 

“What do you allude to,” enquired I, “when you say that 
you have seen wotse than this yourself?” 

“To an experience which befell me when I was a mete lad,” ! 
answered the Sheykh, “‘and had but recently entered into this 
circle. I was in Sultan-abad then—my native place—and the 
Friends used to meet regularly at night-time, the men in one room 
and the women in an adjoining apartment, to read the Holy 
Books and hold spiritual converse. All went well for a while; 
our conventicles escaped the notice of the authorities, and might 
have continued to do so, had it not been for a traitor, Mulla 
‘Ali, now pishnamdz of one of the mosques of Sultan-abad (as his 
father Mulla Huseyn was then) who, to insinuate himself amongst 
us and compass our destruction, feigned belief in our doctrines, 
and for five or six months continued to frequent our assemblies 
until he knew us all, and discovered where our books were 
concealed. 

“Now this wretch used to be a constant visitor at the house 
of one of the chief adherents of our faith, a theologian named 
Mull4 Muhammad ‘Ali, with whom he used to tread the sacred 
books. One day he requested permission to borrow a copy of 
the Beydn, which was at once granted him. Having thus secured 
possession of the book, he forthwith proceeded to the house of 
Haji Aka Muhsin, the philosopher (Zakamz), and laid it before 
him. Aka Muhsin (whom a study of philosophy had rendered 
comparatively tolerant) invited Mulla Muhammad ‘Ali to his 
house to discuss the matter with him, intending, should he not 
succeed in convincing him and inducing him to renounce his 
opinions, to do no more than expel him and his associates from 
the city. He further summoned another leading Babi, Mull4 


1 The date of this occurrence, so far as the Sheykh could recollect it, was 
about A.H. 1278 (A.D. 1861—2). 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 563 


Ibrahim, the author of commentaries on the Kubrd, Shamsiyya, 
and other treatises on Logic, and at that time tutor to Prince 
Nasiru’d-Dawla, Governor of this city, whose father, Prince 
Nusratu’d-Dawla, was then Governor of Sultan-abad. He was 
the first to arrive, and while these two were engaged in discussion, 
Haji Seyyid Muhammad Bakir, Majtahid, suddenly entered the 
room with a knife concealed under his cloak, and, seeing Mulla 
Ibrahim, cried out, ‘Do you hold converse or engage in con- 
troversy with this viper?’ Even as he spoke he drew forth his 
dagger, and smote the Babi thrice—on the side of the head, the 
back of the neck, and the back of the chest—so that he fell dead 
to the ground. A moment later the other Babi, Mulla Muhammad 
‘Ali, ignorant of what had passed, entered the room, and was in 
turn stabbed by the Mujtabid, as was also a third, named Kerbela’i 
Rahmatu’ll4h, who followed him. 

“When news of these doings was brought to Prince Nusratu’d- 
Dawla, the Governor, he sent a message to the Mwtahids, saying, 
‘Leave this matter alone, for I will see to it.’ Then he sent and 
arrested all the Babis whose names were known to Mulla ‘Ali 
the traitor, and furthermore caused a number of those whose 
opinions wete suspected to pass before him, so that he might 
identify those whom he had seen at the Babi conventicles. Some 
twenty or thirty of us in all, including myself, were denounced, 
and forthwith cast into a loathsome underground dungeon, 
where we lay, chained together in a row, hardly able to move, 
and in dire suspense, for that night and the whole of the next day. 

“Tt was on the second night of our captivity that we heard 
a tramp of feet without; then the key grated in the lock, the door 
opened, and the executioner, accompanied by several of his 
assistants, bearing lanterns and the implements of his ghastly 
craft, entered. ‘I am come to kill the Babis,’ said he, as the 
farrdshes set down the lanterns on the floor; and we, of course, 
supposed that one and all we were doomed to die. 

““T was seventh in the row. Passing the first and second, 

36-2 


564 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


the man of blood halted before Usté Mahmud, the pea-parcher 
(nokbud-biriz), of Kashan. They forced open his mouth, crammed 
a wet handkerchief rolled into a ball into his gullet, and drove 
it down his throat with a wooden peg and a mallet. For a minute 
ot two, with gaping mouth, blackening face, and eyes starting 
from his head, he continued to struggle; then he fell back on the 
floor, and one of the executionet’s assistants sat on his face till 
the last quiver died away. 

“They next came to Kerbela’i Haydar, the furrier (pustindiz), 
of Kabul, whom they slew in like manner; and we, seeing this 
(for he was fourth in the row, next to Usté Mahmiud), made 
sute that all of us were to die. We were mistaken, however, 
for they passed by the fifth and sixth in the row, and myself (the 
seventh), and did not halt again till they came opposite to Mirza 
Hasan of Sultan-abad, the surgeon, who was next beyond me. 
And when they had made an end of him, and of Mirza Ahmad 
of Tafrish, who sat next beyond him, they gathered up their 
instruments of death, together with the lanterns, and, without 
saying another word, left us there in the darkness, the living 
and the dead chained together. 

“Tt was an awful night, as you may imagine, for us who lay 
beside our murdered companions, expecting to share their fate, 
ot one yet worse, on the morrow. But amongst us was one poor 
hunchbacked cobbler, who, during the horrible scenes which 
had just been enacted, had not once changed colour, and he 
continued to console us, reciting poems suitable to our situation, 
chanting verses from the sacred books, and crying, ‘A strange 
paradise is this! Yet, if we are to die to-morrow, it is at most 
that we shall eat so many pounds less of bread and meat ere our 
bodies return to the dust and our souls to the source whence 
they came.’ He grew more excited as he talked, and at last, 
‘Let us kill one another now,’ he said; ‘I will show you how it 
may be done—lI will press and press so gently that you shall 
hardly know it, on the veins of the neck, and life will ebb quietly 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 565 


away. How much better to die thus, in all love and affection, 
by the hands of our friends than as these did by the hands of the 
headsman!’ It was only with the greatest difficulty that we could 
restrain him from carrying out his purpose, and so continue 
anxiously awaiting the morning. 

““No more of us, however, wete doomed to suffer death on 
this occasion, save one old woman, nearly seventy years of age, 
the wife of Haji Aka Muhsin’s paternal uncle. Her they sent 
to Teheran; and when they asked the Shah what should be done 
with her, he said, ‘It is not good for a woman to be imprisoned,’ 
wherefore they strangled her in the women’s apartments of the 
palace, and cast her body into a well. The rest of us were released 
about a fortnight later, after the governor had extorted from us 
as much money as he could—in my case three hundred sémans.” 

I was not a little moved by this horrible story, and regarded 
the Sheykh with increased interest and respect, for after all a 
man who has looked death in the face (and such a death!) for 
conscience sake is worthy of respect, though he be a drunkard 
and a libertine. I could not help thinking what a strange com- 
bination of good and evil he must be—such a combination as 
would be almost impossible save amongst the Persians—but I 
only said:— 

“You have suffered much for your faith, it would seem.” 

“Ay,” he said, “nor was that the only time, though it was 
the most terrible. I was imprisoned in the jail (avbar) at Teheran 
for three months and seventeen days, along with five other Babis, 
Aka Jemal of Burtjird, son of Mull4 ‘Ali, who was entitled 
‘the Proof of Islam’ (Hujatu’/-Isldm); Mirza Abu’|-Fazl of Gul- 
payagan, the secretary of Manakyji, the Zoroastrian agent at the 
Persian Court, and the compiler, under his directions and in- 
structions, of the New Hzstory of this Most Great Theophany '; 


1 This is a mistake. Mirza Huseyn of Hamadan was Manakji’s secretary, 
and he it was who, with the help of Mirza Abu’l-Fazl, compiled the New 
History. See the Introduction to my translation of that work, pp. xxxiv—xlii. 


566 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


Usta Ahangar, Mull4 ‘Ali Akbar of Shimrdn, and Haji Mulla 
Isma‘il Dhabib. For the first three days and nights our captivity 
was vety grievous, for, in the hopes of extorting money from us 
ot our friends, they subjected us by day to various torments, 
and by night put our necks in the ‘collar’ (¢awk), and our feet 
in the stocks (A/a/i/), but we determined to bear our sufferings 
rather than appeal for money to our friends, knowing that to 
produce money would be only to increase the zeal of our tor- 
mentors. And after thus enduring for three days we were 
rewarded by an abatement of our torments.” 

Sheykh Ibrahim next related to me what had once passed 
between himself and the Shah’s eldest son, the Zillu’s-Sultan, 
and the account given to him by the prince of the death of the 
martyrs of Isfahan, which, as I have already published it in 
the notes to the second volume of my Tvave/ler’s Narrative 
(pp. 401-3), I will not here repeat, especially as I have already 
referred to this episode more than once in the course of these 
pages. I then again attempted to ascertain his views on the 
future life and on the nature of the divinity ascribed to Beha, 
but the ‘arak which he had drunk was beginning to take effect, 
and he was growing gradually incoherent. Concerning the soul, 
he said that it was imperishable, and that when the body died it 
looked calmly and unconcernedly on. at the preparations for 
interment. Pure and impure souls, he added, were like clean 
and dirty water—the pure poured back into the brook, the 
impure cast forth upon the ground to become mingled with it. 
As for Beha, the Sheykh said: “‘I have heard him say in my 
presence, ‘I do not desire lordship over others; I desire all men 
to become even as J am.’” When I remarked that many of his 
followers declared him to be divine in quite another sense than 
those who, according to the Sufi doctrine, had escaped from self 
and become merged in God, the Sheykh simply remarked, “‘ Then 
they are in error.” He added that Beha had forbidden him from 
preaching, or making any attempts at proselytising, saying that 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 567 
he had already suffered enough for his faith. And after this, 


the last rational remark to which he gave utterance, he relapsed 
into ribaldry and incoherence, and presently fell asleep. 

Thursday, 18th July, 9th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—Towatds evening I went 
into the town and called at the post-office, where the postmaster 
lent me a poem in praise of Beha, composed by one Na‘im of 
Abadé, a poor man of no education, whose power of vetse- 
writing is regarded by his co-religionists as a divine gift, and 
little short of miraculous. His verses are partly in Persian, partly 
in Arabic, and of the latter, at any rate, it may truly be said that 
they are of the most miraculous character. Usta Akbar, the pea- 
patcher, was also there. He was, after his wont, very mysterious, 
and informed me that a relation of the postmastet’s, who was 
a “‘Mulla,” and who possessed some of Kurratu’l-‘Ayn’s poems, 
was anxious to see me, but that I must not mention this to the 
postmaster, as he might be displeased. I was somewhat surprised 
at what appeared to me so unnecessary a stipulation, but attri- 
buted it to Usta Akbar’s love of mystery. It was only afterwards 
(for the pronouns in Persian do not distinguish gender) that I 
discovered that the “Mulla” in question was a lady, who tfe- 
garded herself as a “manifestation” (wazhar), or re-incarnation, 
of Kurratu’l-‘Ayn. It was accordingly arranged that I should 
meet this “Mulla” on the next day but one, at the house of one 
of the officials of the post-office. As I did not know where he 
lived, I enquired as to how I should find my way thither. Usta 
Akbar naturally selected the most cumbrous and mysterious 
method he could think of. I was to walk slowly past his shop 
at a certain hour on the Saturday in question, and he would tell 
his apprentice to be on the look-out for me, and, as soon as he 
saw me, to run out, pass me, and precede me at a distance of 
twenty or thirty yards to the rendezvous. 

This plan was duly carried out, and on the afternoon of 
the appointed day I found myself in a room in the house of 
Haydaru’ll4h Beg, the postman, where, besides my host, were 


568 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


seated the “‘Manifestation of Kurratu’l“‘Ayn” and a Babi der- 
vish, the former engaged in smoking a ka/ydn, the latter an 
opium-pipe. I was filled with astonishment at seeing a lady 
in the room, and my astonishment was increased when I heard 
the others address her as ‘‘ Mulla,” and ascertained that she was 
the learned Babi who had expressed a wish to make my ac- 
quaintance. She greeted me very politely, bowing repeatedly 
as she exclaimed, “‘ Musharraf! Muzayvan! Chashm-i-md rawshan!” 
(“[You have made the house] honoured [and] adorned! Our 
eyes are brightened!”’) and then asking me how long it was 
since I had believed. I was somewhat embatrassed by this 
question, and tried to explain that I was an enquirer only, whete- 
upon she began to give a long and rather garbled version of 
Christ’s prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, which she con- 
cluded by bidding me not be like that disciple who denied his 
Master. 

By this time eight or nine other persons had joined us, in- 
cluding Sheykh Ibrahim and his friend “Abdu’llah, in consequence 
of which the recitation of Kurratu’l-‘Ayn’s poems, which I had 
been so eager to hear, was postponed. Several Babi books, 
however, were shown to me, including one containing the 
Kalimdt-i-Maknina, or “Hidden Words of Fatima,” ! of which 
the surpassing eloquence was greatly praised by all present. 

“Will you not smoke a ka/ydn?”? enquired Sheykh Ibrahim, 
turning suddenly to me. I signified assent, and he called for one 
to be brought. “A good one, mind, for the Sahib,” he cried, 
as the servant left the room. 

In a minute or two the ka/ydn was brought, and as I took it, 
and, according to the customary etiquette, offered it in turn to 
all present before putting my lips to it, I fancied that I was 
watched with a certain attention and subdued amusement for 
which I could not account. The first whiff of smoke, however, 


t See vol. ii of my Traveller's Narrative, pp. 123-6, and n. 2 at foot of p. 123; 
and Catalogue and Description of 27 Babi MSS. (J.R.A.S. for 1892), pp. 671-4. 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 569 


explained the cause of this. My experience with Cannabis Indica 
while I was a student at St Bartholomew’s Hospital had not been 
altogether fruitless, since it had indelibly impressed on my 
memory the taste of this hateful drug, which now again, for the 
third time in my life, struck on my palate. ‘Oh,’ thought I to 
myself, “‘so this is the trick you thought to play on me, is it?” 
But I continued to smoke on slowly and deliberately till the 
Sheykh, unable any longer to control his curiosity, asked me how 
I found the kalydn. 

“Nice enough,” I answered, “but I fear it somewhat, for, 
unless I am much mistaken, you have put ‘Master Seyyid’! 
into it.” 

I do not think that during the whole time I was in Persia 
I ever scored so great a success as by this simple remark. That I 
—a mere European—should be able to recognise the taste of 
hashish was much, but that I should know it, so to speak, by its 
pet name, was indeed to prove myself well matured (pukhié) by 
travel and the society of persons of experience. 

“How ever did you know that?” enquired the Sheykh amidst 
the laughter and applause of the others. 

“Because I am a Firangi must I needs be an ass?” I demanded, 
with a show of indignation. 

Sheykh Ibrahim was delighted, and proceeded to unfold to 
me many mysteries connected with the use of narcotics in Persia. 
He told me of an oil called Rawghan-i-Hashish (“Oil of Indian 
Hemp’’), prepared from a plant named Tdétiré (? Datura), of 
which half a xokhid would render a man insensible for twenty- 
four or thirty-six hours. This, he said, was often employed by 


1 Hashish is thought so badly of in Persia that it is usually spoken of, even 
by those who use it, by some nickname, such as Akd-yi-Seyyid (“Master 
Seyyid”), Tuti-1-asrar (“The Parrot of mysteries”), or simply Asrar (“ Mys- 
teries’’), the first two alluding to its green colour. One of the odes of Hafiz, 
beginning “Aliya titi-yi giyd-yi asrdr, Mabddd khdliyat shakkar xi minkdr” 
(“O Parrot, who discoursest of mysteries, may thy beak never want sugar!’’), 
is addressed to the drug. 


570 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


Persian adventurers in Turkey and Arabia (especially at Mosul 
and Mecca) to stupefy persons whom they wished to rob. Mixed 
with the food intended for the victim’s consumption its flavour 
is imperceptible, and the protracted insensibility to which it 
gives tise allows the thief ample time to decamp. These revela- 
tions were, however, interrupted by the arrival of a murshid, ot 
spiritual director, of the Shah-Ni‘matu’llahi order of dervishes, 
who asked me point-blank what my religion was, and was much 
annoyed when I answered him with the well-known tradition, 
“Ustur dhahabaka, wa dhahdbaka, wa madbhabak”’ (Conceal thy 
gold, thy destination, and thy creed”). 

Monday, 22nd July, 13th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—TVo-day another threatened 
collision between Seyyid Huseyn of Jandak and Sheykh Ibrahim 
was with difficulty averted. The former had dropped in during 
the afternoon to tead me selected extracts from Haji Muhammad 
Karim Khan’s attack on the Babi doctrines, when the latter most 
inopportunely joined us. The two glared at one another for a 
while, and then the Seyyid, who had a really remarkable faculty 
for making things disagreeable, began to ask the Sheykh whether 
he had been to Acre lately, and other similar questions. I inter- 
posed, and, to my great relief, succeeded in changing the con- 
vetsation, and getting the Sheykh to talk about his travels. He 
told us about the Yezidis (the so-called ‘‘Devil-worshippers’’) 
of Mosul and its environs. “They extend for a distance of three 
stages west of Mosul,” said he, “and strange folk they are— 
uglier than you can imagine, with immense heads and long 
unkempt beards, and dressed in white or crimson clothes. They 
refuse to regard any sect or any person, even the Devil (whom 
they call ‘Malak-i-Ta’us, the ‘Peacock Angel’), as bad; and if 
any unwaty traveller curses him, or “Omar, or Shimr, or anyone 
else whom most men are wont to curse, or if he spits on the 
ground, they consider it incumbent on themselves to kill him, 
though every man of them should suffer death in retaliation, 
They have a sort of temple whither they repair for their devotions, 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 571 


and there, as I have heard (for none save themselves may enter), 
they from time to time spread a banquet, and then let loose a 
cock. If the cock eats the food, they consider their offering as 
accepted, but if not, as rejected.” 

Tuesday, 23rd July, 14th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—In the afternoon I rode 
into town and visited the Sheykh of Kum. He called to his 
little daughter (a child six or seven years of age), who was on 
the roof, to come down and speak to me, but she, with pre- 
cocious modesty, hid her face with a corner of her shawl and 
refused. 

“Why wilt thou not come down and speak to the Firangi 
Sahib?” enquired her father. 

“Because I am shy,” cried the little one from the roof, peeping 
out from behind her extemporised veil. 

“Thou art not wont to be so shy before others,” he continued; 
““why then before this one?” 

“T do not reckon them as men,” she replied, with a toss of 
her head, and ran away to hide, while we both burst out laughing, 
and I remarked that such a compliment from the lips of a child 
was indeed gratifying. 

The Sheykh talked rather freely about Babiism. “The allega- 
tions made by the Musulmans about the Babis,” said he, “‘though 
untrue, ate in most cases founded to some extent upon fact. 
They say, for instance, that the Bab wrote Arabic which violated 
all the rules of grammar. This is not true; but it is true that he 
made use of grammatical forms which, though theoretically 
possible, are not sanctioned by usage, such as ‘Wapbhdd, from 
Wahid; ‘Farrdd, from Farid, and the like. So, too, they accuse 
Kurratu’l-“Ayn of unchastity. That is a lie—she was the Essence 
of Purity; but after His Holiness the Point [z.e. the Bab] had 
declared the Law of Islam abrogated, and ere he had promulgated 
new ordinances, there ensued a period of transition which we 
call ‘ Fatrat’ (‘the Interval’), during which all things were lawful. 
So long as this continued she may very possibly have consotted, 


>) 


572 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


for example, with Mulla Muhammad ‘Ali of Barfurtsh as though 
he had been her husband, though afterwards, when the New Law 
was tevealed, she and all the others were most rigorous in its 
observance.” 

At this point we were joined by a certain Mulla whom I 
knew to be the chief Ezeli in Kirman, and to have an enormous 
collection of Babi books. I was extremely anxious to draw him 
into conversation on this topic, when, to my great chagrin, the 
postmaster (who was, as will be remembered, a determined 
Beha’f) was announced. He looked at us suspiciously, evidently 
guessing the subject which occupied our thoughts, and forthwith 
there fell upon us a sense of constraint which soon brought about 
the dispersion of the assembly. 

On leaving the Sheykh’s house I was making for the telegraph- 
office to condole with the Prince-Telegraphist on the death of 
his eldest son, the poor lad whom I had last seen smoking opium 
at the house of my friend, the secretary of the governor, when | 
was met by Mirza ‘Ali Naki Khan, the brother of the chief of 
the Farrdshes, and by him detained in conversation. While we 
wete talking, a murmur suddenly arose that the Prince-Governor 
was coming, and everyone began to bow down, with arms folded 
across their breasts, in humble obeisance. When the Prince saw 
me he called me to him, brought me with him into his garden, 
and bade his servants bring tea, ka/ydus and cigarettes. He did 
not talk much, being busy reading a packet of letters which had 
just been placed in his hands, and examining a fine gold repeater 
which had attrived by the same post; so, when I had sat for a 
short time, I asked permission to retite—which was accorded 
me. I then proceeded to the telegraph-office, where I found 
the Prince-Telegraphist looking very sad and dejected, and 
surrounded by five or six Babis of note, who, like myself, had 
come to offer condolence. 

On returning to my garden about two hours after sunset, 
I found the pea-parcher and a rather notable dervish of the 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 573 


Shah-Ni‘matu’llahi order, named Shahrukh, awaiting me. They 
had supper with me, and stayed all night. The dervish smoked 
a great quantity of opium and recited a vast amount of mystical 
poetry, of which his memory appeared to contain an inexhaustible 
store. The pea-parcher retired for a while, leaving us alone, and 
presently returned in a state of boastful intoxication. “I am 
Adam!” he cried, again and again; “I am Moses! I am Jesus! 
I am Muhammad! What say you to that?” I was so disgusted 
that at last I could not refrain from answering, “‘Since you ask 
my opinion, I should say that you have had too much to drink, 
and ate now talking blasphemous nonsense.” 

Wednesday, 24th July, 15th Dhi’l-ka‘daa—My guests departed 
early, soon after sunrise, Usta Akbar awakening me to com- 
municate the message which had brought him to the garden on 
the previous evening. “There is a poor opium-kneader (trydk- 
mal) of my acquaintance,” said he, “one of ‘the Friends,’ who 
is most anxious to entertain you at his house, and has so im- 
portuned me to bring you, that for the sake of peace I had to 
promise that I would do so. He wanted you to sup with him and 
stay the night at his house, but, having regard to its meanness, 
I told him that this would not be convenient to you, so it has 
been arranged that we shall lunch there to-morrow and spend 
the day. Come, therefore, in two hours’ time to the caravansaray 
of Ganj ‘Ali Khan, and there one shall meet you who will conduct 
you to the opitum-kneader’s house.” 

I fell asleep again when Usta Akbar had gone, and did not 
awake for several hours. Just as I was going out with ‘Abdu’!- 
Huseyn I met the opium-kneader, who, poor man, had already 
come once to the garden that morning to guide me to his house, 
whither we at once proceeded. Haydaru’llah Beg, and Nasru’ll4h 
Beg of the post-office, a dervish named Habibu’llah, and the 
pea-parcher, were the other guests, and later we were joined 
by the Prince-Telegraphist’s secretary and Sheykh Ibrahim, who, 
though uninvited, had by some occult means discovered that 


574 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


an entertainment was in progress, which I suppose heconsidered 
would not be complete without his presence. Soon after my 
attival the dervish-boy, whose sweet singing had so delighted 
me one day in the caravansaray of Ganj ‘Ali Khan, entered the 
room with a kalydn, which he presented to me with the Babi 
salutation, “Aldhu Abhd.” All those present, indeed, were 
Babis; and after lunch, as we sat sipping our tea and taking an 
occasional whiff of opium, quantities of Babi poems by Kurratu’l- 
‘Ayn, Suleym4n Khan, Nabil, Rawha (a woman of Abddé), and 
others, were produced and handed round or recited, together 
with the Bab’s Seven Proofs (Dala’il-i-Sab‘a), Beha’s Lawp-i-Nasir, 
and other tracts and epistles. Before my departure I succeeded 
in arranging with the Prince-Telegraphist’s secretary that he 
should copy out for me a selection of these treasures, which the 
owners kindly consented to place at his disposal. 

Thursday, 25th July, 16th Dhi’/-ka‘da.—In the afternoon I went 
into the city by the Mosque Gate, through which crowds of 
people were pouring forth to visit the cemetery, the “Eve of 
Friday” (Shab-i-Jum‘a) being the favourite time for the per- 
formance of this pious act. The Babi dervish-boy was amongst 
the crowd, and, dervish-fashion, placed a sprig of mint in my 
hand as he passed, but without asking or waiting for the small 
sum of money which is generally expected in return for this 
compliment. In the square of the caravansaray of Ganj ‘Ali Khan, 
I saw Usta Akbar standing, and approached him to speak with 
him. While we were conversing, there came up to me a certain 
dervish, who had once visited me in my garden, and craved an 
alms “‘for the sake of Beha.” Now in general I made it a rule to 
respond, as far as possible, to such calls; but against this par- 
ticular dervish I cherished some resentment, for this reason. On 
the day when he visited me in the garden, Sheykh Ibrahim 
chanced to be with me; and him, either from previous know- 
ledge, or from some chance remark which he let drop, the dervish 
recognised as a Babi. So when he had sat with us for a while, 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 575 


drunk several cups of tea, and pocketed a &rdu and half a stick 
of opium, he went out, found Seyyid Huseyn of Jandak per- 
forming his ablutions at the stream by the gate, and told him 
that I was certainly a Babi, or in a fair way to become one, since 
I was continually in the society of notorious Babis. All this, of 
course, was tepeated to me; and as I had treated this not very 
agreeable or intelligent dervish thus courteously rather on Sa‘di’s 
principle that “‘the dog’s mouth is best stopped with a morsel,” 
I was naturally incensed at his indiscretion. So when he asked me 
“for the sake of Beha” to give him money, I bade him begone 
with scant ceremony; and when he continued to importune me, 
declaring that he had no bread for that night’s supper, I turned 
angrily upon him, saying, ““No opium, I suppose you mean!”’ 

“Ay,” said he, “no opium: neither bread nor opium. For the 
sake of Beha give me some money!” 

“You ingtate (vamak-bardm)\” I exclaimed, exasperated at his 
pertinacity and indiscreetness (for already a little crowd was 
gathering round us to listen to our dialogue, and to stare at 
“the Firangi Babi,” from whom alms were demanded “for the 
sake of Beha’’), ““how dare you come to me again for money 
after what you have done?” 

“Tam no ingrate,” he answered, “and whoever says so wrongs 
me. What have I done that you should be thus angry with me?”’ 

“What have you done?” I retorted; “when you came to the 
garden, did I not give you money and tea and opium, and speak 
you fair? And did you not, with the money and the opium in 
your pocket, and the taste of the tea in your mouth, go out and 
make mischief against me, spreading idle and damaging reports?” 

Then at last he slunk away with some appearance of shame. 

Friday, 26th July, 17th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—Duting the greater part of 
the day I was occupied in writing for the Prince-Governor the 
brief account of my journey which he had requested me to com- 
pose for him. Towards evening, Sheykh Ibrahim, ‘Abdu’llah, 
and the self-sufficient and conceited cobbler, whose rudeness to 


576 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


the old Dhahabi dervish had so displeased me, arrived simul- 
taneously. ‘Abdu’llah soon went off, thinking that he might be 
wanted by his master, and I was left with the other two. Both 
talked, and Sheykh Ibrahim drank a great deal; but as regards 
the talking, the cobbler had at first the best of it, and presently 
he demanded my copy of the [édv, and said he would read aloud 
to us—an accomplishment on which he greatly prided himself. 

Sheykh Ibrahim bore with this reading, or rather chanting, 
as long as he could, gulping down his rage and his ‘arak together, 
till finally one or both of these proved too much for him, and 
he suddenly turned ferociously on the unsuspecting cobbler. 

“Beast and idiot!” he cried, “cannot you be silent when 
there are men present, and let them talk without interrupting 
them with your abominable gabbling? Your silly head is so 
turned by Usta Akbar and others, who listen to your reading, 
and applaud it with cries of ‘Z7bd mi-khwdnad!’ (‘How nicely 
he reads!’) that you are inflated with conceit, and do not see 
that this Firangi here, who knows ten times as much Arabic 
as you do, is laughing at you under his lip, because in every 
word of Arabic which you read you violate a rule of grammar. 
Silence then, beast, and be no more intoxicated with Usta Akbar’s 
‘Zibd mi-khwdnad!’”’ 

The poor cobbler was utterly taken aback by this unexpected 
sally. “Forgive me, O Sheykh!” he began; “I am only a poor 
ignorant man ss 

“Man!” cried the Sheykh, waxing more and more wroth; 
“T spit on the pates of the father and mother of the dog-mamma! ! 
Man, forsooth! You are like those maggots (khardtin) which 
thrust forth their heads from rotten fruit and wave them in the 
air under the impression that they are men. I count you not as 
belonging to the world of humanity!” 





1 A slightly refined translation of the Persian “Rédam bi-kellé-i-pidar u 
mddar-1-nené-sag,” a form of abuse which was a great favourite with the 
Sheykh, who was not given to mincing words. 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 577 
“O Sheykh!” exclaimed the poor cobbler, “Whatever you 


may please to say is right. I have eaten dirt! I have committed 
a fault! I am the least of your servants!” 

“But I will not accept you as my servant,” shouted the 
Sheykh; “‘you are not in my world at all. I take no cognisance 
of your existence.” And so he stormed on, till the wretched 
cobbler, now reduced to tears, grovelled at his feet, begging for 
enlightenment and instruction, and saying, ““You ate a great 
and a wise man; yout knowledge is far beyond ours; you have 
travelled and seen the world, and looked on the Blessed Beauty 
(Jemadl-i-Mubdrak, i.e. Beha’u’ lah, the Babi hierarch at Acre). Tell 
me what to think, and what to believe, and what to do, and I will 
accept it.” Finally the Sheykh was appeased, and they embraced 
and made up their quarrel. 

Saturday, 27th July, 18th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—This day was chiefly 
notable to me because, for the first time for several weeks, I 
succeeded in resisting the growing craving for opium which 
possessed me. This had now begun to cause me some anxiety, 
for I felt that the experiment had gone quite far enough. “‘It is 
all very well,” I thought to myself, “‘to enter into the world of 
the opitum-smoker—and the experience was needed to complete 
my view of dervish life—but if I do not take care I shall become 
a dervish in reality, living from hand to mouth, engrossed with 
smoking opium and ‘weaving metaphysic’ (‘irfan-baf7), and 
content if I can but postpone the business or trouble of to-day 
till to-morrow—a to-morrow which never comes. It is high time 
I took measures to put an end to this state of things.” The plan 
which I devised for putting an end to my servitude was based 
upon the observation that it is not so much the smoking of 
opium as the regular smoking of opium at a fixed time, that is 
dangerous. I believe that, speaking generally, anyone may 
indulge in an occasional pipe with impunity ; but I had accustomed 
myself to smoke opium regularly after supper, and so soon as 
this time came round, an indescribable craving came upon me, 

B x Wi 


578 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


which only the drug could assuage. It therefore seemed to me 
that the first step towards emancipation must be to alter, and 
gtadually to increase, the interval, which, so far as I] remember, 
I effected somewhat in the following way:—One day, instead of 
waiting till after supper, I smoked a small amount of the drug 
at the time of afternoon tea. Next day I waited till supper-time, 
thus extending the interval of abstinence from twenty-four to 
thirty hours. On the third day I sat up very late and smoked a 
very little opium just before retiring to rest. And on the fourth 
day I went to bed in reasonable time, and succeeded in falling 
asleep before the craving came upon me, not returning to the 
drug till the afternoon of the fifth day, thus farther extending the 
interval from thirty to forty hours. Thus gradually did I free 
myself from a thraldom which, as I believe, can hardly be broken 
in any other way. 

Sunday, 28th July, 19th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—To-day I lunched with 
Usta Akbar to meet the postmaster of Kirman; the chief of the 
telegraph at Rafsinjan, who was on a visit to Kirman; and several 
other Babis of the Beha’i faction. On my entrance they greeted 
me with an outburst of raillery, induced, as it appeared, by their 
belief that I was disposed to prefer the claims of Subh-i-Ezel to 
those of Beha, and that I had been influenced in this by the 
Sheykh of Kum and his friends. I was at first utterly taken aback 
and somewhat alarmed at their vehemence, but anger at the unjust 
and intolerant attitude towards the Ezelis which they took up 
presently came to my aid, and I reminded them that such violence 
and unfairness, so far from proving their case, could only make 
it appear the weaker. “From the statement of Sheykh Ibrahim,” 
I concluded, “who is one of your own patty, it appears that 
your friends at Acre, who complain so much of the bigotry, 
intolerance, and ferocious antagonism of the Muhammadans, 
and who are always talking about ‘consorting with men of every 
faith with spirituality and fragrance,’ could find no better argu- 
ment than the dagger of the assassin wherewith to convince the 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 579. 


unfortunate Ezelis who were theit companions in exile, and I 
assute you that this fact has done mote to incline me from Beha 
to Ezel than anything which the Sheykh of Kum or his friends 
have said to me. It would be mote to the point if, instead of 
talking in this violent and unreasonable manner, you would 
produce the Beydn (of which, ever since I came to Kirman, and, 
indeed, to Persia, I have been vainly endeavouring to obtain 
a copy), and show me what the Bab has said about his successor.” 
The postmaster and Usta Akbar eventually admitted that I was 
right, and promised to try to obtain for me a copy of the Beydn. 
After this, amicable relations were restored, and the atmosphere 
seemed clearer for the past storm. 

On returning to the garden I found Seyyid Huseyn and one 
Mirza4 Ghul4m Huseyn awaiting my arrival. They stayed for 
some time, and, as usual, talked about religion. With Mirza 
Ghulam Huseyn I was much pleased, though I could not satisfy 
myself as to his real opinions. He told me that he had read the 
gospels attentively, and was convinced of their genuineness by 
the deep effect which the words of Christ recorded in them had 
- produced on his heart. He added that he could interpret many, 
of the prophecies contained in the Book of Revelation as 
applying to Muhammad, and would do so for my benefit if 
I would visit him in the Kdravdnsardy-i-Gulshan, where he 
lodged. 

Monday, 29th July, 20th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—This evening there was 
another stormy scene in the summer-house, of which, as usual, 
Sheykh Ibrahim was the cause. He and the parcher of peas came 
to visit me about sundown, bringing with them a poor scrivener 
named Mirza Ahmad, who had made for himself copies of certain 
writings of the Babis, with which, as being a dangerous possession, 
he was, I was informed, willing to part for a small consideration. 
Now to guard himself from suspicion, in case the book should 
fall into the hands of an enemy, he had placed at the end of the 
Kitdb-i-Akdas, which stood first in the volume, a colophon, 


37-2 


580 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


wherein he had described it as “‘the book of the accursed, mis- 
guided, misleading sect of the Babis.” This colophon, which 
had not been seen by either of his companions, caught my eye 
as I turned over the pages; but I made no remark, and, fearing 
trouble if it should meet other eyes, quickly closed the book and 
laid it aside. Shortly afterwards, Usta Akbar, wishing to speak 
with me privately, drew me apart. When we returned, it was to 
find that the explosion which I dreaded had taken place, and 
that Sheykh Ibrahim, having taken up the book and seen the 
objectionable words, was pouring forth the vials of his wrath 
on the poor scrivener, who, overcome with shame and terror, 
was shaking like an aspen, and on the verge of tears. It was only 
with the greatest difficulty that I could stem the torrent of 
threatening and abusive language which the Sheykh continued 
to pour forth, and lead Mirza Ahmad out into the garden, where 
he sat down by the stream and began to weep. Finally, I 
succeeded in comforting him a little with fair words and a 
larger sum of money than he had expected, but the evening 
was not a harmonious one, and the acquisition of a new 
manuscript was the only feature in it which caused me any 
satisfaction. 

Wednesday, 31st July, 22nd Dhi’l-ka‘da.—In the morning Seyyid 
Huseyn came, bringing with him a kindly and courteous old 
divine of the Sheykhi sect, named Mulla Muhammad of Jupar. 
When lunch-time came I invited them to eat with me, “although,” 
I added with a smile, “‘I am in your eyes but an unclean infidel.” 
“Now God forbid that it should be so!” exclaimed the old 
mulld; “in His Name (exalted is He!) will we partake of your 
food.” So Haji Safar set before them delicate and strange meats, 
whereof they ate with great contentment, and presently departed, 
well pleased with their entertainment. Thereupon I again set to 
wotk on the account of my journey which I was writing for 
the Prince-Governor, intending later to go into the city; but 
word came from Mirza Jawad’s son that he would visit me with 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 581 


his tutor, and about three hours before sunset they arrived. I 
was greatly displeased at the conduct of the aforesaid tutor, Mulla 
Ghulam Huseyn, on this occasion; for soon after his arrival there 
was placed in my hands a letter from one of my Babi friends at 
Yezd, which he, with gross impertinence, requested me to show 
him. This I naturally declined to do, but he, unabashed, picked 
up the envelope from the ground where it lay, and began to 
criticise the superscription, which ran as follows:— 

“Wusilubu bi’l-khayr! Dar Kirmdn bi-muldbaxa-i-‘alt-jenab-i-faxd’ il-nisab-t- 
temtlu's-sajdya va'l-ma’db Hakim-i-labib Edward Sabib (xida fazlubu va xdda 
tawfikubu) musharraf shavad.” 

Which being interpreted is— 


“May its arrival be with good! In Kirman by the perusal of Edward 
Sahib of lofty dignity, endowed with virtues, excellent of qualities and of 
resort, the discerning philosopher (may his excellence be augmented and his 
guidance be increased!) may it be honoured.” 


““*Discerning philosopher,’ ‘excellent of resort,’” read Mulla 
Ghulam Huseyn. “What right have you, a Firangi, to such 
titles as these? Hither be this thing or that—a Firangi or a 
Persian.” 

An end was put to this unpleasant conversation by the return 
of Seyyid Huseyn and the old wuld of Jupar, who were soon 
followed by Usta Akbar and several other persons, mostly Babis. 
In this ill-assorted and incongruous assembly, which threatened 
momentarily to terminate in an explosion, I was oppressed as by 
a thunderstorm, and I was almost thankful when the rudeness 
of Usta Akbar finally put the Sheykhis to rout, leaving the Babis 
in possession of the field. These also departed a little later, 
leaving me at last in peace. They wished me to go with them on 
the morrow or the following day to Mahan, to visit the shrine 
of the great Sufi saint, Shah Ni‘matu’llah. I told them that I had 
already promised to go with some of my Zoroastrian friends; 
whereupon they urged me to break with these “‘gabr-hd-yi najis”’ 
(“unclean pagans’’), as they called them, and would hardly take 


582 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


“No” fot an answer. But at last, when, after listening in silence 
to their efforts to persuade me, I replied, “It is no use talking more 
about it; | have given my word to the Zoroastrians, and will 
not go back on it, for my word is one”—they turned away 
impatiently, exclaiming, ““Go with the guebres, and God pardon 
thy father!” 

Next day I had.a telegram from Shiraz enquiring when | 
proposed to return thither, and urging me to leave Kirman 
without further delay. This caused me some annoyance, as | 
had no wish to leave it yet, and hoped to obtain permission 
from Cambridge to postpone my return to England till January, 
so that I might go by Bandar-i-‘Abbas and the Persian Gulf to 
Baghdad, and thence to Damascus and Acre, which would be 
impossible till the cooler weather came. I therefore had recourse 
to the opium-pipe, and deferred answering the message till the 
following day, when I visited the telegraph-office and despatched 
an answer to the effect that I had no intention of quitting Kirman 
at present. I found my friend the Prince-Telegraphist still much 
cast down at the loss of his eldest son. His mind was evidently 
running much on the fate of the soul after its separation from the 
body, and he asked me repeatedly, ““What think you of the 
matter? what have you understood?” He also talked more 
openly than he had hitherto done about the Babi religion, saying 
that as between the rival claimants to the pontificate, Beha and 
Ezel, he found it hard to decide, but that as to the divine mission 
of Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad, the Bab, there could, he thought, be 
no doubt. Then his secretary, who was an ardent believer in 
Beha, read extracts from the epistles and treatises which he was 
copying for me, and asked if these were like the words of a mere 
man; but the poor prince only shook his head, sorrowfully, 
saying, “It is a hard matter; God knows best!” 

Next day a term was put to my uncertainty (though not 
in the way I wished) by the arrival of a telegram from England, 
which had been translated into Persian and sent on from Shiraz, 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 583 
bidding me be in Cambridge by the beginning of October. There 


was no help for it then; I must leave Kirman, and that without 
much delay, and, abandoning all idea of Baghdad, Acre, and a 
camel-ride across the Syrian Desert, post to Teheran, and return 
home by the Caspian Sea and Russia. It was a bitter disappoint- 
ment at the time, and on the top of it came, as is so often the 
case, another, which, though small in comparison, gave me that 
sense of things going generally wrong which almost everyone 
must at some time have experienced. My Zoroastrian friend, who 
was to have taken me to Mahan, sent word that a misfortune had 
befallen him (the death of his brother in Teheran, as I afterwards 
discovered), which rendered this impossible; and my Babi 
friends, who had previously so greatly importuned me to accom- 
pany them, had now made other arrangements, so that it seemed 
likely that I should have to leave Kirman without visiting the 
tomb of the celebrated Saint Shah Ni‘matu’llah. 

I had now no excuse for prolonging my stay at Kirman; yet 
still I could not summon up resolution to leave it. It seemed as 
though my whole mental horizon had been altered by the atmo- 
sphere of mysticism and opium smoke which surrounded me. I 
had almost ceased to think in English, and nothing seemed so 
good in my eyes as to continue the dreamy speculative existence 
which I was leading, with opium for my solace and dervishes for 
my friends. Peremptory telegrams came from Shiraz, sometimes 
two ot three together, but I heeded them not, and banished all 
thought of them with these two potent antidotes to action of 
which I have spoken above. Their influence must have been 
at its height at this time, for once or twice I neglected for a day 
ot two even to write my diary—a daily task which I had hitherto 
allowed nothing to keep me from accomplishing. The record of 
the incidents which marked the day preceding the first break of 
this sort shows the elements of external disturbance and internal 
quietism in full conflict—on the one hand, a tripartite telegram 
from the English Superintendent of the Telegraph at Shiraz, 


584 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


the chief of the Persian office at the same place (the same whom 
I had known at Yezd, whence he had recently been transferred), 
and my former host, the Nawwab, strongly urging me to start 
at once; on the other, two wildly mystical poems given to me 
by a dervish murshid, or spiritual director, whom I had left in 
a state of unconsciousness produced by some narcotic compound 
which I had refused to taste, and of which he had offered to 
prove the innocuousness by eating it. 

Some decision, however, was imperatively called for, and 
could not much longer be deferred; for, amongst other things, 
my money had nearly come to an end, and I could only obtain 
a fresh supply in Teheran, Isfahan, or Bushire. In this strait 
my friends came to my assistance with a delicacy and a generosity 
which I shall not readily forget. I was making arrangements 
for borrowing, at 5 per cent. interest, a sufficient sum to take 
me at least as far as Isfahan or Teheran, when, almost simul- 
taneously, by a Babi and a Zoroastrian merchant, I was offered 
any advance that I might need. I was at first unwilling to borrow 
from either of them, remembering the Arabic proverb, “‘e/- 
kardu mikrddu’l-mawaddat”’ (“ Borrowing ts the scissors of friend- 
ship”’), but they would take no dental, especially the Babi, 
who said that he should feel deeply hurt if I refused to accept 
his offer. Finally, I consented to avail myself of his kindness, 
and borrowed from him a sum of sixty or seventy /émdns (about 
£20), for which he declined to accept any interest, and could 
only be prevailed upon with difficulty to take a receipt. This 
sum I duly remitted to his agent at Teheran on my artival 
there. 

And now Haji Safar, who, in spite of occasional fits of per- 
versity and sulkiness, had always shown himself a faithful and 
loyal servant, came to the rescue. He had been much troubled 
(and not without reason) at the state of indecision and inactivity 
into which I had lapsed, which state he ascribed to some spell 
cast over me by the Babis, to whom he had even addressed 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 585 


threats and remonstrances. So one night, while waiting on me 
at supper, he unfolded to me a plan which he had formed, as 
follows:— 

“Sdpib,” he began, “you cannot stay on here for ever, and you 
know that you are wanted in England at the beginning of the 
month of Safar next (7th October 1888). Now I have been 
thinking how you can stay at Kirmdn as long as possible, see 
as much new country as possible, and still be back in your own 
country in time. If you return to Shiraz and go thence to 
Bushire, and there take ship, you will not arrive in time, even if 
we could start at once, which we cannot do, as it will not be easy 
to find mules for the journey. It is much better, then, that we 
should go to Teheran, and that you should teturn thence 
through Russia. The advantages of this plan are that you 
can have a week or ten days more here; visit your friends at 
Rafsinjaén on the way; see your friends at Yezd, Kashan, Kum, 
and ‘Teheran again; be in the capital for the Muharram passion- 
plays, which you will nowhere see so well performed; and 
traverse Mazandaran or Gilan, both of which, as I can assure you, 
ate very remarkable countries, which you ought to see before 
leaving Persia. I will undertake to sell your horse for not less 
than you gave for it, and before it is sold I will arrange for you 
to visit Mahan, as you wished to do. You can write to Shiraz 
for your things to be sent to meet you at Teheran, where also 
you will be able to buy any more books of which you have 
need. What do you think of my plan? Have I not spoken 
well?” 

That he had spoken well there was no doubt; his plan was 
the best that remained possible, and he had baited it cunningly. 
With a sudden sense of shame at my own lethargy, and gratitude 
to Haji Safar for his wise admonition, I determined once and 
for all to shake off this fatal quietism which had been so long 
growing on me, and at once to take the steps necessary for the 
execution of his plan. 


586 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


Two days later, on 9th August, everything was in proper 
train. The expedition to Mahan had presented some difficulties, 
but they were overcome by Haji Safar’s energy. He came to 
me about sundown on that day with a smile of triumph and 
satisfaction. ““Sdbib,” said he, “it is all arranged: you will go 
to Mahan and perform your visitation to the shrine, and that 
without bearing the burden of obligation to anyone. I have 
found an old man, an uncle of the gardener’s, and a regular 
‘desert-walker’ (biydbdn-gasht), who will bear you company and 
show you the way; for I must remain here to complete our 
preparations for the journey. I will bring you your supper 
directly, and then you had better go to sleep for a while; for if 
you start four hours after sunset, you will still be at Mahan by 
daybreak. You will remain there all to-morrow, travel back 
in the same way to-morrow night, and be here at daybreak on 
Sunday morning.” 

The silent march to Mahan (for the old guide stalked on 
before me with swift untiring gait, only looking round now 
and again to see that I was following him) was pleasant in spite 
of its monotony. Never had my horse cartied me so well as 
on this our last journey together. Once again my spirit was 
refreshed and rejoiced by the soft night air and the shimmer of 
the moonlight on the sand-hills, until the sky grew pale with the 
dawn, and the trees and buildings of Mahan stood clear before us. 

We went straight to the shrine of the great Saint Shah 
Ni‘matu’ll4h, and were admitted without difficulty in company 
with other pilgrims. One of the dervishes attached to the 
shrine read the xzydrat, or form of visitation. Then he said 
to me, as the other pilgrims were kissing the tombstone, “‘Sapzb, 
Shah Ni‘matu’llah was a great man.” Iacquiesced. “In the world 
of the gnostics there is no difference of sects,” he continued. 
Again Iagreed. “‘Then,” said he, “seeing that this is so, it were 
not amiss for you to kiss his tombstone.” I did as he desired, 
and then, having visited the various buildings connected with 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 587 


the shrine, returned with the dervishes to their Aahve-khdané 
(“‘coffee-house” or guest-chamber), where I had tea and slept 
till noon. 

In the afternoon the dervishes took me to see some of the 
gardens which surround Mahan. In one of these, called the 
Gardan-i-Shutur (“Camel’s Neck”’), a charming spot, I met my 
friend Serush, the Zoroastrian, who was still mourning the death 
of his brother, and had come to Mahan for a day’s solitude and 
quiet before starting for Teheran to wind up his affairs. 

About two hours before sunset, after another cup of tea, I 
bade farewell to the kindly dervishes, mounted my horse, and 
started homewards with my guide, well pleased with Mahan and 
its people, and disposed to regard as a gratuitous slander that 
cynical verse:— 

“ Bihisht-1-riyi zamin-ast kit‘a-i-Mahdn, 
Bi-shart-i-dnki takdn-ash dihand dar dizakh,” 
“The district of Mahan would be an earthly paradise, 
On condition that it should be well shaken over hell.” 
To our left lay the village of Langar, the headquarters of the 
Sheykhis, where live the sons of the Bab’s great rival and 
antagonist, the late Haji Muhammad Karim Khan of Kirman. 
I asked my guide whether we could not visit it on our way. 
To this he consented, and in a short while we found ourselves 
in the quiet lane where dwell the “ Akd-xddas” (“Sons of the 
Master”). Here we met a Sheykhi divine, whom my guide 
accosted, telling him that I wished to pay my respects to the 
Akd-zddas; and before I had time to consider whether I should 
do well to thrust myself upon the leaders of a sect for which 
I had but little kindliness, I found myself in the courtyard of 
their house. At the farther end of this courtyard mats and 
carpets were spread, and on these sat in tows some dozen 
sout-looking, heavy-turbaned Sheykhi students, to whom two 
of Karim Khan’s sons, seated in the place of honour, were 


1 J.e. That all its inhabitants should be shaken from it into hell. 


588 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 


expounding the text of a work of their father’s called the Fas/y'/- 
Khitdb. Ashamed to retreat, I advanced and sat down on my 
heels like the others in the lowest place. Of those nearest to me, 
some glared indignantly at me and others edged away, but no 
other notice was taken of my arrival till the lecture was over, 
when one of the Akd-xddas addressed me, remarking that he had 
heard I was “going after teligions” (‘akib-i-madhhab mi-gardid). 
I replied that he had been correctly informed. 

“Well,” said he, ““and have you found a religion better than 
that in which you wete brought up?” 

“No,” I replied. 

“What of Islam?” continued he. 

“It is a good religion,” I answered. 

“Which is best,” said he: ‘‘the Law of Islam or your Law?” 

“Why do you ask me this question?” I replied; “my apparel 
answers for me. If I thought Islam the better, I should not 
come here clad in this raiment, but rather in turban and “abd.” 

Thereat the younger students laughed, and the Akdé-zddas, 
remarking that it was the time for the evening prayer, went 
off to the mosque, leaving a cousin of theirs, who wore the 
dress of a layman, to entertain me till their return. He gave 
me tea, and would have had me stay to supper, so as to converse 
with the Afkd-xddas, but I excused myself, and soon after their 
return from the mosque took my departure. One of Karim 
Khan’s sons accompanied me to the gate. I thanked him for 
his hospitality. 

“Our Prophet hath bidden us ‘honour the guest,” said he. 

““Fiven though he be an infidel,’ I replied, completing the 
quotation; whereat we parted with laughter. 

Another silent ride through the moonlit desert, and, as the 
sun tose above the horizon, I alighted for the last time from 
my honest old horse at the gate of my garden in Kirman. The 
atrangements for his sale had been already concluded, and that 
very day the servant of his new master brought me a cheque for 


239 


AMONGST THE KALANDARS 589 


eighteen timdns (about £6, two témdns more than I had paid for 
him), and led him away. And as I gave him a final caress (for 
I had come to love the beast after a fashion), I felt that now indeed 
I had finally broken with the pleasant Persian life of the last three 
months. 








CHAPTER XVIII 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


“ Yakulina inna’l-mawta sa‘be", wa innamd 
Mufdrakatu’l-abbabi wa’ abi as‘abu!” 
“They say that Death is hard, but by the Name of God I swear 
That separation from one’s friends is harder still to bear!” 
“ Shab-i-shanba xi Kirmdn bar kardam; | 
Ghalat kardam, ki pusht bar yar kardam.” 


“On Friday night I loaded up from Kirman; 
I did ill, for I turned my back on my friend.” 


T was on Sunday morning that I parted with my horse, and 
my departure was arranged for the following Tuesday. On 
that day, while paying a farewell visit to the young Babi met- 
chant who had so kindly advanced me the money which I 
needed for my journey back to Teheran, I met the postmastet’s 
son. He appeared to be sulky with me for some teason—prob- 
ably because of my friendliness with the Ezelis and apologies 
for their attitude—and coldly observed that the sooner [ left 
Kirman the better, and that if I could leave that very night 
it would be best of all. I answered that this was impossible, 
but that I would perhaps start on the morrow. “‘Then you must 
go early in the morning,” said he, “‘so as to avoid collision with 
the post.” 
When I told this to Sheykh Ibrahim, on whom I next called, 
he was greatly incensed. | 
““Nonsense,” said he, “the rascally burnt-father only wants 
to get your money as soon as may be, so that he may get drunk, 
_ eat sweetmeats, and play the libertine. You must stop here to- 
night and sup with me and some others of your friends. I will 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 591 


ask the postmaster and his scoundrel of a son too, and you shall 
see how small they will sing after I have hada talk with them. I'll 
wattant they will be humble enough then, and will let you have 
your horses whenever it may please you.” 

Somewhat comforted by the Sheykh’s confidence in his own 
powers, I went off with Usta Akbar to pay a visit to some of my 
Babi friends who were employed in the post-office in a sub- 
otdinate capacity, after which we returned to Sheykh Ibrahim’s 
abode. He had been as good as his word: the postmaster and his 
son were there, both, to use the Sheykh’s expression, “the very 
essence of submission” (mabz-i-taslim), ready to let me have 
hotses for my journey whenever it might please me. The evening 
passed off harmoniously after this, the Sheykh cooking the 
supper himself, only stopping occasionally to address a remark 
to one of us. 

“O thou who art buried in this land of K and R,”’! he cried 
out to me in one of these pauses, ““why should you leave this 
place, since you like it so well?” 

“Because,” I replied, “I must be back at the University of 
- Cambridge early in the autumn. My leave of absence is nearly 
at an end, and they have summoned me to return.” 

“T spit on the University of Gimbrij” (so he pronounced 
it), answered the Sheykh; and to such revilings he continued at 
intervals to give vent throughout the evening. 

When one begins to procrastinate there is no end to it. I 
wished to start on Thursday, 16th August, but at the last moment, 
when I was actually ready for the journey, word came from the 
post-office that the post (which was due out on that day) was so 
heavy that there were no horses to spare; and from one cause 
and another my actual departure was deferred till the evening 
of Sunday, 19th August. All day I was busy with farewells, 
to which there seemed to be no end, for several of my friends 
were loth to bid me a final good-bye, and I too shrank from the 

1 J.e. Kirman, which is so called by the Babis, and in the Kitab-i-Akdas, 


$92 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


parting, for I knew how unlikely it was that I should ever see 
them again. To this thought the postmaster, who had recovered 
his wonted kindliness of manner, gave expression. “In this 
world we shall see one another no more, as I think,” said he, 
“but in another world we shall without doubt meet again, and 
that world is the better, for there all things will be made clear, 
and there will be no mote parting.” 

My last visit was to the Prince-Telegraphist. On my way 
thither I was stopped in the street by the Babi cobbler who 
had been so roughly rebuked by Sheykh Ibrahim for his chanting 
of the sacred books. He was in a great state of agitation, and 
cried out to me with tears in his eyes— 

“Sahib, you will go to Acre, if not now, then at some future 
time, and you will see the Supreme Beauty?. Do not forget me 
then; mention me there, and let my name be remembered in the 
Holy Presence!”’ 

The post-horses, ready laden for the journey, called for me 
at the telegraph-office. It was after sunset, but the Prince had 
caused the northern gate of the city to be kept open for me after 
the usual hour of closing, so that I was able to linger a little 
while longer in the city which had cast so strange a glamour 
over me. At last, however, I rose regretfully and bade him fare- 
well; and, as the great gate closed behind me with a dull clang, 
and I found myself in the open plain under the star-spangled sky, 
I thought that I had seen the last of all my Kirman friends. But 
when we halted at the post-house (which, as before said, stands 
some distance outside the city to the north), there were Sheykh 
Ibrahim and Usta Akbar the pea-parchetr come out to see the last 
of me, and I had to dismount and smoke a last pipe with them; 
while the Sheykh, who was subdued and sorrowful, told me how 
his friend ‘Abdu’llah had fled, none knew whither, with such 
raiment only as he wore, leaving word that he was bound for 
Acre, and would not return till his eyes had gazed on the 

1 J.e, Beha’u’ll4h. 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 593 


“Supreme Beauty.” “You may very likely come up with him 
on the road,” he concluded, “in which case I pray you to stop 
him, reason with him, and if necessary send him back in the 
custody of some trustworthy person, else will he certainly perish 
ere his mad quest be accomplished.” 

It was three hours past sunset when I at length mounted and 
turned my face northwards. At midnight I was at Baghin, the 
first stage out from Kirman, and there I rested for a while in 
a gatden belonging to Na’ib Hasan, whom we had overtaken 
on the way, and who set before me melons and other delicious 
fruits. Soon after daybreak I was at Kabitar Khan, where I 
slept till noon was passed, and then, after lunch and tea, set out 
for Rafsinjan, where I was to stay for the night with the tele- 
graphist, a Babi whose acquaintance I had made at Kirman. On 
the way thither I passed two of my dervish friends, who, with 
banners, alms-gourds, and all the paraphernalia of professional 
mendicants, were returning from Rafsinjan; and, somewhat 
later, Na’ib Hasan’s brother, who presented me with a melon. 
A little after this I met one of the officials of the Kirman post- 
Office (also a Babi, with whom I was well acquainted) returning 
from the limit of the Kirman district, to which it was his duty 
to escort the post. After a brief conversation we exchanged 
horses, I taking the ugly black beast which had brought him from 
Rafsinjan. In spite of its ill looks, it got over the ground at an 
amazing pace, and, guided by another Babi in the postal service 
(all the post-office officials about Kirman seemed to be Babis), 
I arrived at my friend’s house in Kaméal-abad, hard by Bahram- 
Abad, in good time for supper, at which I met my old friend the 
postmaster of the latter place. 

I had arranged before leaving Kirma4n to spend two days 
with another of my Babi friends, Aké Muhammad Hasan of 
Yezd (my guest on the occasion of that wild banquet described 
at p. 534 supra), who lived at a little village distant only about 
five miles from Bahram-abad, somewhat off the main road. | 

B 38 


594 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


had not altogether wished to consent to this fresh delay, but 
Ak& Muhammad Hasan was determined that it should be so, 
and had secured my compliance by a rather cunning device. 
Hearing that I was very desirous of obtaining a manuscript of 
the Persian Beydn, and that Usté Akbar had found one which 
the owner was willing to part with, he bought it himself, sent 
it off by post the same day to his home, lest I should induce 
him to change his mind, and then, when he bade me farewell, 
promised to give me the book I so greatly longed to possess if 
I would visit him on my way north. Only after his departure 
did I learn the trick that had been played upon me, for not 
till Usta Akbar explained that this was the manuscript about 
which he had spoken to me did I realise with mixed indignation 
and amusement how I had been duped. Now, if I wanted my 
Beydn, it was clear that I should have to go to Ak4é Muhammad 
Hasan’s village for it, and I was not going to lose the only chance 
that I had yet had of obtaining this precious volume for the sake 
of gaining two paltry days. 

As there was no question, therefore, of getting beyond this 
village for the present, and no object in arriving there before 
evening, I stayed with my friends at Bahr4m-abad till half an 
hour before sundown, when I again mounted the ugly black horse 
which had carried me so well on the previous day, and set off 
at a teating gallop. As I drew near the village I descried a 
little group assembled on a small conical hill just outside it. 
Their figures stood out clear against the setting sun, and I 
could see that they were watching for my arrival. Even as I 
espied them, one of them, my host’s son, a handsome lad of 
eighteen or nineteen, disengaged himself from their midst, and, 
mounting a large white ass which stood ready, advanced at a 
tapid amble to meet me. I should have stopped to greet him, 
but the black horse would hardly consent to be checked in his 
headlong career, and in about a minute more I was in the middle 
of the group. Having dismounted, I had to exchange embraces 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 595 


with my host and his Babi friends (some ten ora dozen in number), 
a proceeding which, in spite of its patriarchal character, was 
rather tedious. Then, taking me by the hand, my host led me 
through the village street, which was lined with curious onlookers, 
to his house. 

I remained here for two days—days which passed pleasantly 
but uneventfully. There was the usual tea-drinking, smoking 
of opium and tobacco, and long debates—in shaded rooms by 
day and in the moon-lit garden by night—on religious and 
philosophical questions. There were several guests besides myself, 
some of whom had come from Kirman to meet me. Amongst 
these was one, a dyer by trade, whose good sense and moderation 
especially impressed me. To him I expressed my dissatisfaction 
at the exaggerated language employed by Nabil, the poet, and 
other Babis in speaking of Beha. He agreed with me, but said 
that allowance must be made for them if their affection for their 
Master prompted them at times to use language which calmer 
reason could not approve. 

My host had a large collection of Babi manuscripts, together 
with some photographs, which he showed us with much pride 
and yet mote caution, never suffering more than one book at 
a time to leave the box in which he kept his treasures. For liberal 
as the Babis are in all else, they hoard their books as a miser does 
his gold; and if a Babi were to commit a theft, it would be some 
rate and much-prized manuscript which would vanquish his 
honesty. And so it was that, when the moment of my departure 
arrived, I came near to losing the manuscript of the Persian Beydn 
which had served as the bait to lead me to this remote hamlet of 
Rafsinjan. My host begged me to leave it with him for a month, 
for a week, even for five days; in five days, he said, he could get 
it copied, and it should then be sent after me to Yezd, or Teheran, 
or any other place I might designate. I was obdurate, however, 
for I yearned to possess the book, and felt that I was entitled to 
have it; neither dared I leave it behind me, fearing lest the 

38-2 


596 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


temptation to keep it should prove too strong for my Babi 
friends. So at last, when the discussion had grown protracted, 
I said— 

“T have eaten your bread and salt, and am your guest. If 
you will have the book, take it; but I would almost as lief give 
you my head.” 

“Then,” said he, after a moment’s pause, “‘take it; if such be 
your feeling, we cannot ask you to give it up.” 

So I put the precious volume in my pocket with a sense of 
profound thankfulness, and, accompanied by my friends, walked 
out a little distance from the village before mounting. Once 
more we embraced; and then, tightening the wide leather belt 
in which I carried my money, and buttoning the hardly-won 
Beydn into my breast-pocket, I hoisted myself into the saddle, 
and, amidst a shower of good wishes for the journey, again set 
my face towards Yezd. 

It was about an hour before sunset on Thursday, 23rd August, 
when I resumed my northward journey. Three hours after sunset 
I was at Kushkuh, where I stopped only to change horses. At 
about 3 a.m. on the Friday I was at Beyaz, and soon after sunrise 
at Anar. Here I rested and had luncheon, not starting again till 
the afternoon. About sundown I was at Shemsh, where such 
bad horses wete provided that I did not reach Kirmd4nshahan 
till 9 or 1o p.m. There I had supper, tea, and—I regret to add— 
a pipe of opium, which greatly comforted me; and then I slept 
till daybreak. 

Next day (Saturday, 25th August) I reached Zeynu’d-Din 
two hours after sunrise, and ate a melon while the fresh horses 
were being saddled. Soon after leaving this place the shdgird- 
chdpar (post-boy) who accompanied us raised an alarm of thieves, 
and indeed we saw three horsemen wheeling round us in the 
distance. I fancy, however, that they were waiting there in the 
hopes of rescuing some of their comrades who had recently 
been captured at Kirman and were being sent in chains to 


— ee ee 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 597 


Teheran to undergo judgment. At any rate they did not 
molest us. 

About noon we arrived at Sar-i-Yezd, where I halted for 
lunch for an hour or two. As I was preparing to start, a Kirmani 
woman who was standing by called out to me, “We pray God 
to bring you back to Kirman.” I suppose she was a Babi, and 
regarded me as a co-teligionist; though how she knew anything 
about me I was at a loss to imagine. 

Rather more than an hour before sunset I teached Muham- 
mad-abad, a sort of suburb of Yezd. Here I visited the brother 
of the young Babi merchant who had befriended me at Kirman, 
meaning only to stay for a short time; but nothing would serve 
him save that I should be his guest that night, and go on to Yezd 
on the following morning. I was not loth to accept his hospi- 
tality; and a right pleasant evening we passed on a roof ovet- 
looking beautiful gardens redolent with the perfume of flowers 
and resonant with the song of the nightingale. Here it was, I 
think, that I smoked my last opium-pipe in Persia, amidst 
surroundings the most perfect that could be imagined. 

Next evening (Sunday, 26th August) I supped with the Babi 
Seyyids at Yezd, where I remained till the following Friday, 
lodging at the post-house, which is situated at the northern 
extremity of the town. I saw most of my old friends, except the 
Prince-Governor, during these five days, and received from 
all of them a very cordial welcome, but the Babi Seyyids were 
not a little vexed to find that I had foregathered with the Ezelis 
at Kirman. “I told you,” remarked the poet ‘Andalib, “that no 
good would come of your going there, and I was, it seems, 
perfectly right.” 

I left Yezd at sunrise on Friday, 31st August, and entered the 
great sand-desert which bounds it on the north. It and the long 
post-ride to Kashan were equally monotonous, and need little 
more description than a list of the stages, times, and distances, 
which were as follows:— 


598 . FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


Yezd to Meybut or Meybud, where I arrived about 2 p.m., 
after a two hours’ halt at ‘Izz-4bad to visit an acquaintance, 
ten parasangs. Thence to Chifté, which we reached about 5 p.m., 
six parasangs. Thence to Aghda, where we arrived about half 
an hour after dusk, four parasangs. Here we were delayed by 
the post, which always has the first right to horses, till late in 
the night, when, after supper and a short sleep, we started by 
bright moonlight, and reached the desolate post-house of Naw- 
Gunbudh (whence a road leads to Isfahan) half an hour before 
suntise on 1st September (nine parasangs). 

1st September.—Slept till noon at Naw-Gunbudh. Thence a 
dreary stage of six parasangs brought us about 4 p.m. to the 
queer old rambling town of Na’in. Half an hour after sunset 
we reached Neyistanak (six parasangs), where the son-in-law 
of one of the postal officials of Yezd, with whom I had made 
acquaintance, hospitably entertained me to supper. 

2nd September—Left Neyistanak a little before daybreak, 
accompanied by an intelligent and handsome little shdgird-chdpar, 
and arrived (eight parasangs) during the forenoon at Jaukand, 
a pretty place, abounding in trees and streams, where I would 
fain have lingered a while to converse with the singularly amiable 
and courteous postmaster. While I was waiting for fresh horses 
to be saddled, two or three villagers came in, well-favouted, 
genial fellows, who told me that an old dialect nearly akin to 
that of Kohruid was spoken in this and the neighbouring villages. 
After a short halt the fresh horses were led out, and I bade fate- 
well to the kindly postmaster, who exhorted me to deal gently 
with them, as they had just been watered. The shdgird-chdpdr, 
a bright handsome lad named Haydar, saw to this; for he was 
proud of his horses (and rightly, for they actually had to be held 
in), and prattled incessantly about them, till, after a ride of five 
patasangs, we reached the little town of Ardistan. 

Here I had an introduction to a Babi, who took me to his 
house, gave me fruit, tea, and pipes, and showed me a manu- 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 599 


sctipt of the works of a mystical poet of Ardistén named Pit-i- 
Jemal, in whose verses, as he declared, the ‘“‘manifestation” of 
the Bab had been foreshadowed. I left Ardistan about two hours 
and a half before sunset, the boy Haydar again bearing us com- 
pany. The horses supplied to us were so bad that when we had 
gone a short distance we had to send back two of them and take 
on two of the horses we had brought from Jaukand, to the 
delight of Haydar and the disgust of the poor old postmaster 
of Ardistan, who had to refund part of the money which he had 
received. 

After a stage of six parasangs we reached Mughar, where I 
had supper and slept for a while by the side of a stream which 
ran past the post-house, starting again soon after midnight. Five 
parasangs more brought us to Khalid-abad about sunrise; six 
mote parasangs to Abi Zeyd-abad about noon on 3rd Sept- 
ember. The horses which brought us thither had been very bad, 
but those now supplied to us were even worse; so, as it was 
impossible to urge them out of a walk, I resigned myself to the 
inevitable, bought some melons, and thus eating the fruit and 
crawling along in true caravan fashion, entered Kashan soon 
after sunset, and was again hospitably received at the telegraph- 
office by Mr Aganor. Here I remained that night and all next day 
to make some purchases and see one or two of my old friends. 

I left K4sh4n about sunset on 4th September, and reached 
Sinsin at ro p.m., and Pasangan about sunrise the next morning. 
I was very tired and would fain have rested a while, but the 
post from the south was behind us, and there was nothing for 
it but to push on, unless I wished to run the risk of being 
stranded for a day at this desolate spot. At 10 a.m. on 5th Sept- 
ember I was at Kum, where I was most hospitably received at 
the telegraph-office, and enjoyed a welcome test of twenty-four 
hours, for I was by this time half-dead with weariness, not being 
used to such severe riding. 

6th September—Left Kum at 9 a.m.; reached Rahmat-abad 


6oo FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


(four parasangs) at 11 a.m.; Kushk-i-Bahtam (seven parasangs) 
at sunset; and Pik (four parasangs) about midnight. Here I had 
supper and slept till daybreak. 

7th September.—Started at 6 a.m., and, after a hot and dusty 
tide of six patasangs, reached Ribaét Karim, a populous and 
rather pretty village, during the forenoon. Here I stopped for 
lunch, after which I set off, about three and a half hours before 
sunset, to accomplish the last stage (seven parasangs) of this 
weatisome journey. We had good hotses, and shortly before 
sunset found ourselves at a little roadside tea-house, distant one 
parasang from Teheran. Here we halted to drink tea, when Haji 
Safar suddenly observed that if we didn’t make haste the southern 
gates of the city would be shut, and we should have to make a 
long detour to obtain admission. We at once set off and galloped 
in as hard as we could go, but all to no purpose, for the nearest 
gate was already shut, nor could the gatekeeper be induced by 
threats or promises to re-open it. He only did his duty, poor 
man; but I was so angry and disappointed that I gave him the 
benefit of the whole vocabulary of powerful abuse and invective 
which I had learned from Sheykh Ibrahim, and it was perhaps — 
as well that the solid gate stood between us. I was ashamed of 
my outburst of temper afterwards, but those who have ever 
made a journey of 600 miles on Persian post-horses will be ready 
to make some allowances for me. Luckily we found the Shah 
‘Abdu’l-‘Azim gate still open, and, threading our way through 
the bazaars, we alighted about 8.30 p.m. at Prevost’s hotel, where 
Haji Safar left me to go and visit his relatives. 

The return to what must, I suppose, be called civilisation 
was anything but grateful to me; I loathed the European dishes 
set before me, the fixed hours for meals, the constraint and 
absence of freedom, and above all the commonplace and con- 
ventional character of my surroundings. Seven months had 
elapsed since I quitted Teheran for the south, and during this 
time I had been growing steadily more and mote Persian in 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND Gol 


thought and speech alike. The sudden plunge back into European 
life came upon me as a shock which was not mitigated even by 
the charm of novelty, and it took several days to reconcile me at 
all to my surroundings, my whole wish being at first to get away 
from the degenerate capital at the earliest possible date. Many of 
my friends, too, had left Teheran, or gone into the surrounding 
villages for the hot weather, so that life was much duller than 
it had been during my previous stay. 

In spite of my desire to get away from Teheran, it took me 
thirteen days to transact all my business. First of all I had to 
find out about the steamers from Mashhad-i-Sar, the port whence 
I intended to sail for Russia (for I would not take the well-known 
Resht and Enzelf route); then there were books to be bought, 
packed up, and sent off by way of Bushire to Cambridge; Babis, 
to whom I had letters of introduction, to be visited; money 
attangements to be made; and last though not least, fa*zyas to 
be seen, for it was the beginning of the month of Muharram, and 
the national mournings for Hasan, Huseyn, and the other saints 
of the Shi‘ite Church were in full swing. 

To the chief Babis of Teheran I was introduced by a merchant 
of Shirvan (a Russian subject), to whom I carried a letter of 
recommendation. They entertained me at lunch in a house neat 
the Dulab Gate, and I was much impressed by their piety and 
gravity of demeanour, so unlike the anarchic freedom of the 
Kirman Babis. -As a psychological study, however, they were less 
interesting, neither did I see enough of them to become intimate 
with them. 

As I intended to spend all my available money on books, 
_ I was at some pains to ascertain what was to be had, and where 
it could be had cheapest. I therefore visited several booksellers 
and asked them to furnish me with a list of books and prices, 
telling them that, as I hated haggling, I should make no remarks 
on the prices quoted, but simply buy what I needed from him 
who would sell cheapest. This plan had the best effect, since they 


602 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


did not know what other shops I had visited, and could, there- 
fore, make no coalition against me; and I soon filled a large tin- 
lined box with a good selection of useful works of reference 
which seldom find their way to Europe, where bad Indian 
editions ate, as a tule, the only things readily obtainable. I also 
bought a few curiosities, and a complete suit of Persian clothes, 
which was made for me under Haji Safar’s supervision. Amongst 
the booksellers I made the acquaintance of a delightful old man, 
a teal scholar, who, when he could collect two or three manu- 
sctipts of some rare book which took his fancy (generally a 
philosophical or mystical work), would, at his own risk, and with 
no one to assist him, lithograph as correct and good a text as 
he could. Of course he got no encouragement or help from the 
great, who in earlier and better days might have recognised his 
worth, and supplied him with the means of carrying on his 
labour of love on a larger scale. His name, so far as I remember, 
was Sheykh Muhammad Huseyn of Kashan. Whether he still 
lives I know not; but I shall ever remember him as one of the 
best types of the unobtrusive, kindly, disinterested, enthusiastic 
scholar and bibliophile of the East that it has been my lot to 
meet. 

On Wednesday, 6th Muharram (12th September), I dined 
with my kind friend Mr Fahie at the telegraph-office. The 
Shah’s Prime Minister, the Aminu’s-Sultdn, was giving a rawxa- 
kbwan, ot religious recitation, on a splendid scale in the adjoining 
house, and after dinner we adjourned to the roof to watch it. 
On this occasion a whole regiment of soldiers, as well as a 
number of other guests, were being entertained by the generous 
vazir. Sapper was provided for all of them, and I counted over 
a hundred trays of food as they were brought in by the servants. 

Next evening I accompanied several members of the English 
Embassy to the Royal zekyé, a theatre specially constructed and 
set apart for the dramatised representations of Muharram 
(ta‘xiyas), which are to the Shi‘ite Muhammadan what the 


ee | 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 603 


Miracle-plays of Ober-Ammergau are to Christians of the 
Romish Church. The theatre is a large circular building—roof- 
less, but covered during Muharram with an awning. There are 
boxes (¢dékchés) all round, which are assigned to the more patti- 
cian spectators, one, specially large and highly decorated, being 
reserved for the Shah. The humbler spectators sit round the 
centtal space or arena in serried ranks, the women and children 
in front. A circular stone platform in the centre constitutes the 
stage. ‘There is no curtain and no exit for the actors, who, when 
not wanted, simply stand back. The acting is powerful, though 
somewhat crude, and it is impossible not to be influenced by 
the deep feeling evinced by both actors and audience. The 
ta‘ziyas comprise at least some thirty or forty episodes, the 
representation of any one of which requires two or three hours. 
Some of them are drawn from the histories of the Jewish pro- 
phets, and these are the less interesting because the spectators 
ate less profoundly moved by them; the majority, however, 
illustrate the misfortunes of the Shi‘ite Imams. Those connected 
with the fatal field of Kerbela, culminating in the death of the 
“Prince of Martyrs” (Seyyidu’sh-shuhadd), the Imam Huseyn, are 
the most moving; but I fancy that the Persians are, as a rule, not 
vety willing to admit Europeans or Sunnite Muhammadans, so 
ereatly are the religious feelings of the spectators stirred by the 
teptesentation of the supreme catastrophe of the ‘Ashird, or 
tenth of Muharram. On that day bands of men (especially 
soldiers of Adharbayjan) parade the streets in white garments, 
which ate soon dyed with gore; for each man carties a knife or 
sword, and, as their excitement increases with cries of “Yd 
Hasan! Yd Huseyn!” and beating of breasts, they inflict deep 
eashes on their heads till the blood pours forth and streams over 
their faces and apparel. It is an impressive sight, though some- 
what suggestive of Baal-worship. 

The ta‘ziya which I was privileged to see represented the 
bereaved women of the Holy Family before the impious Shimr, 


604° FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


Yezid’s general. Shimr was clad in a complete suit of chain- 
atmour, and the captive women were brought in before him 
mounted on barebacked camels. Them he entreats with the 
greatest brutality, driving them with a whip from the corpse 
of Huseyn, round which they gather to weep and lament. The 
mise-en-scene and costumes were good; but the effect was spoiled 
in some measure by the introduction of a number of the Shah’s 
catriages, with postilions barbarously dressed in a half-European 
uniform, in the middle of the piece. This absurd piece of ostenta- 
tion seemed to me typical of Kajar taste '. 

I had been much exercised in mind as to the safe conveyance 
of my precious Babi manuscripts to England. The box of books 
which I was sending home by Bushire would, I knew, be months 
on the road, and I wished to begin to work at my manuscripts 
immediately on my return. On the other hand, I had heard such 
dreadful accounts of the Russian Custom-house that I was afraid 
to take them with me. Finally I decided to sew them up carte- 
fully in thick linen, direct the parcel to my home addtess, and 
send it, if I could obtain permission, in the Embassy bag, which 
is conveyed monthly to Constantinople by a special bearer, and 
there handed over to the Queen’s messenger for transport to 
London. It cost me an effort to part with my beloved and 
hardly-won manuscripts, even for so short a time, but I felt that 
this was the safest plan; and, accordingly, having packed and 
directed them with the greatest care, I rode out to Kulahak, the 
summer quarters of the English Embassy, situated about six 
miles to the north of Teheran, and, to my great relief, saw the 
precious packet sealed up in the bag. 

I had been delayed in starting from Teheran, and so reached 

1 An English translation of some twenty or thirty of the more important 
ta‘xiyas has been published in two handsome volumes by Sir Lewis Pelly, 
formerly Resident on the Persian Gulf. One of them (“Les Noces de Kassem’’) 


is given in French by Gobineau in his Religions et Philosophies dans Il Asie 
Centrale (pp. 405-437), which also contains a general account of the Muharram 


Passion-plays (pp. 381-403 and 439-459). 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 605 


the Embassy too late for lunch; I stayed at Kulahak till about 
5.30 p.m. visiting some of my Persian friends, and did not get 
back to the city till nearly 7 p.m.; and that evening I had been 
invited by my servant Haji Safar to sup with him at his house 
and then to visit some of the smaller ¢a‘yiyas and rawza-khwans 
with him in disguise. As I had had nothing to eat all day but 
tea and biscuits, I was well-nigh famished before supper-time, 
and returned to the hotel about midnight almost dead-beat. So 
tired was I that it was some time before I could even summon 
up energy to undress. 

Next day I woke at I know not what time, feeling faint, 
ill, and helplessly weak, as though every bone in my body were 
broken. No one came neat me, and it was not till evening that 
I could make the effort to rise and obtain some food. After 
drinking a plate of soup and some tea, I again fell asleep, and 
woke next morning somewhat better, though still too weak to 
rise till evening. As two of my Persian friends had promised 
to take me into the town to see something more of the Muharram 
_ mournings and spectacles, I then made a fresh effort, got up, 
had dinner, and, as soon as they arrived, put on a Persian coat 
(sarddri) and lambskin hat (kw/dh), and sallied forth in this dis- 
guise, well content to feel myself for the time a Persian amongst 
Persians. We spent a pleasant and interesting evening, visiting 
unmolested the Masjid-i-Shah (Royal Mosque) and the houses 
of two notable divines, the Im4m-Jum‘a and Mulla ‘Ali of 
Kand. 

On Tuesday, 18th September, I concluded my purchase of 
books, on which I spent something over £10. For the benefit 
of Persian students, I append a list of the twenty-six volumes 
which I bought for this sum, together with their prices. The first 
fifteen I obtained from my good old friend Sheykh Muhammad 
Huseyn of Kashan, the last eleven from another bookseller. 

1. The Burhdn-i- Jami‘, a very excellent and compact dictionary 
of Persian words, composed in the reigns of Fath-“Ali Shah 


606 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


and Muhammad Shah, by Muhammad Karim ibn Mahdi-Kuli 
Mirza, and chiefly based on the Burhdn-i-Kdti‘ and the Farhang-1- 
Rashid, lithographed in Tabriz in A.H. 1260 (A.D. 1844). Price 
10 krans. 

2. The Divan of Anvari (Tabriz edition of A.H. 1266). Price 
12 krans. 

3. The Kisasu’l-‘Ulamd (“Stories of Celebrated Divines”’), 
by Muhammad ibn Suleyman et-Tanakabuni, together with two 
other treatises, one called Sabi/u’n-najadt (“The Way of Salva- 
tion”), and the other, by Seyyid Murtaza “Alamu’/-Hudd, called 
Irshddu’l Awimm (“The Layman’s Guide”). Second edition, 
lithographed in Teheran in A.H. 1304. Price 10 rans. 

4. The Sharh-i-Manzuma, ot text and commentary of the 
philosophical poem (Arabic) of the great modern philosopher 
of Persia, Haji Mulla Hadi of Sabzawar. Lithographed at 
Teheran in A.H. 1298. Price 20 krans. 

5. The Divan of Sand’t, one of the most celebrated of the 
early mystical poets of Persia (died about A.D. 1150). Litho- 
graphed. Not dated. Price 8 krdns. 

6. The Hadtkatu’sh-Shi‘a (“Garden of the Shi‘ites”’), an ex- 
tensive work on Shi‘ite doctrine and history. Second volume 
only, dealing with the Imams. Lithographed at Teheran in a.H. 
1265. Price 12 krans. 

7. The mystical commentary on the Kur’4n of Sheykh 
Muhyi’d-Din ibnu’l-‘Arabi, a very notable Moorish mystic, 
who flourished during the latter part of the twelfth and earlier 
part of the thirteenth century of our era. Lithographed in 
India (? Bombay) in A.H. 1291 (A.D. 1874). Price 30 Arans. 

8. Philosophical treatises of Mulla Sadra, with marginal com- 
mentary by Haji Mulla Hadi. Lithographed. No date. Price 
10 krans. 

9. The Tadbkiratu’l-Khattdtin (“Biographies of Calligraphists”’) 
and the Travels in Persia, Turkey, Arabia, and Egypt, of Mirza 
Sanglakh, a large and extremely handsome volume, beautifully 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 607 


lithographed in a fine vaskh handwriting in a.H. 1291 at Tabriz. 
Price 25 Ardns. 

1o. The poems of ‘Unsuri, a contemporary of Firdawsi, 
and 

11. The poems of Farrukhi, another poet of the same period, 
both lithographed at Teheran, the latter in a.H. 1301. Price 
3 krans for the two volumes. 

12. The complete works of Ka’4ni and Furtghi, two poets 
of the nineteenth century, together with the Hadd’iku’s-sipr, a 
treatise on rhetoric by Rashidu’d-Din Watwat. Lithographed in 
A.H. 1302 (? Teheran). Price 14 krans. 

13. The Fususu’l-Hikam by the celebrated mystic, Sheykh 
Muhyi’d-Din ibnu’l-‘Arabi, mentioned above. Lithographed at 
Bombay in A.H. 1300. Price 5 krdus. (There is another edition 
of the same work lithographed at Teheran in a.H. 1299, which 
I bought on another occasion.) 

14. Sw’dl ud Jawvdb (“Questions and Answers”), a sort of 
catechism on Shi‘ite law and ritual, by the great divine Haji 
Seyyid Muhammad Bakir. Printed at Isfahan in the teign of 
Path-“Ali Shah (4.H. 1247) under the patronage of Minuchihr 
Khan Ma‘tamadu’d-Dawla, the governor of that place, by “Abdu’r- 
Razzak of Isfahan, assisted and instructed by Mirza Zeynu’l- 
‘Abidin of Tabriz, who is described as ‘‘the introducer of this 
att (7.¢. printing) into Persia.”” A fine piece of work. Price 8 krans. 

15. The Hadtkatu’l Hakikat, a well-known early mystical 
poem by Hakim Sana’i (flourished during the earlier part of 
the twelfth century of our era); the two first chapters only, with 
commentary by the Nawwab Muhammad ‘Ala’u’d-Din Khan, 
poetically surnamed ‘A]a’i, edited by Muhammad Ruknu’d-Din 
Kadiri Hisari. Lithographed at Luhari. No date. Price 24 krans. 

16. The last volume of Sipihr’s great history, entitled Nadsz- 
khu't-Tawarikh (“The Abtogator of Chronicles’), containing part 
of the reign of Nasiru’d-Din Shah. Price 5 krdns. 

17. A little volume containing the quatrains of ‘Omar 





608 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


Khayyam, of Baba Tahir the Lur of Hamadan (the most celebrated 
dialectical poet of Persia), of Abt Sa‘id ibn Abi’l-Khayr (a notable 
mystic who died about the middle of the eleventh century of our 
era), and of Khwajé ‘Abdu’llah Ansari, together with some 
kasidas by Salman of Savé. Lithographed at Bombay during the 
vice-regency of Lord Lytton in A.H. 1297. Price 2 krdns. 

18. A work on the evidences of Muhammadanism, written 
at the request of Nasiru’d-Din Shah (and hence called Sw/tduiyya) 
by the Bab’s rival, Haji Muhammad Karim Khan of Kirman, the 
leader of the modern Sheykhi school. Price 3 krdns. 

19. The poems of Minuchihri (a contemporary of Firdawsi). 
Lithographed at Teheran. No date. Price 2 krdms. 

20. The Asrdr-ndma (“Book of Mysteries”’) of the celebrated 
mystical poet, Sheykh Faridu’d-Din ‘Attar. Lithographed at 
Teheran, A.H. 1298. 

21. The Kéirduun’s-Sa‘deyn (‘Conjunction of the Two Lucky 
Planets”) of Amir Khusraw of Dihli. Lithographed (? at Tehe- 
ran) in the reign of Nasiru’d-Din Shah. 

22. The Divan of the philosopher Haji Mulla Hadi of Sabzawar, 
poetically surnamed Asrdr. (There are two editions of this work, 
both lithographed; the one in A.H. 1299, the other in A.H. 1300.) 
Price 2 krdns. 

23. A manuscript (incomplete) of Sheykh Faridu’d-Din 
“Attar’s Tadbkiratu’l-Awliyd (“Biographies of Saints”). Tran- 
scribed in A.H. 1209. Price 40 krans. 

24. The poems of Nasit-i-Khusraw. Lithographed at Tabriz 
in A.H. 1280. Price 14 Ardns. 

25. An old manuscript of a highly-esteemed collection of 
Shi‘ite traditions called Rawzatu’l-Kafi. Price 30 krans. 

26. Mirkhwand’s Universal History, called Rawzatu’s-Safd, 
with the supplement of Riza-Kuli Khan Ld/¢-bdshi, poetically 
surnamed Hirddyat, carrying the record of events down to the 
reign of Nasiru’d-Din Shah. Ten volumes in two. Lithographed 
at Teheran, A.H. 1271-74. Price 7o krdns. 


_ 
| - 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 609 


On returning to the hotel with a sturdy porter who bore 
my purchases, I found my old teacher Mirza Asadu’llah of Sab- 
zawat, who had kindly come to bring me a short biography of 
his master Haji Mulla Hadi the philosopher, and also an auto- 
graph of the great thinker. 

Next day (Wednesday, 19th September) Haji Safar secured 
the services of a tinsmith, with whose aid we packed up and 
hermetically sealed my books and other purchases in a large 
wooden chest lined with tin, which luckily proved just large 
enough to contain them all. When it was closed up, we got 
porters to carry it to Messrs Ziegler’s office in the Kdravansardy-1- 
Amir, where I left it in the care of their agent for transport to 
England by way of Bushire. The total value of its contents, as 
estimated by myself for the Custom-House, came to almost 
exactly 79 témdns (£24). 

On the afternoon of the following day, having concluded all 
my business, and said farewell to such of my friends as still 
remained in Teheran, I started on my last march in Persia, which 
was to convey me through the interesting province of Mazan- 
daran to the Caspian. I had succeeded in obtaining through 
Messts Ziegler’s agent 228 roubles in Russian money (the 
equivalent of 752 &rdus, eight shdhis Persian). The rest of my 
money, amounting to 747 krdus, twelve shdhis, I carried with me 
in Persian silver and copper. 

Our first stage was, as usual, to be a short one, of two or 
three parasangs only, but the moon had risen ere we reached 
out halting-place, the solitary caravansaray of Surkh Hisar 
(“‘the Red Fortress”’), where I obtained a very good clean room, 
opening on to a little courtyard, through which ran a stream of 
limpid water. Soon after quitting Teheran by the Shimran Gate 
we had been joined by an ex-artilleryman, who had just been 
flogged and dismissed the service for some misdemeanour. He 
exptessed a desire to accompany me to “Landan” (London), 
declaring that Persia was no fit place for an honest man, and 


B 39 


610 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


actually went with us as far as Amul, where I was not altogether 
sorry to lose sight of him. 

Friday, 21st September—Left Surkh Hisar about 7.30 a.m., 
and, after a dull ride through a barren, stony plain, reached 
the solitary and rather dilapidated caravansaray of Asalak an 
hour before noon. Here I stopped for lunch, and was entet- 
tained by a quaint old Seyyid who was suffering from a bad foot. 
He told me with great glee how he had recently succeeded in 
defrauding the revenue officers sent to collect his taxes. Being 
apprised of their intended visit, he had, in spite of his lameness, 
gone on foot to Teheran (a distance of six parasangs), carrying 
with him all his cash (some twelve or thirteen timdns), mostly 
in copper coins, which he there entrusted to the keeping of a 
friend. When the revenue officers came, there was no money 
to be found on the premises, and they were obliged to depart 
empty-handed after a fruitless search. On my departure I gave 
the old man a &rdu, with which he was highly pleased. 

Soon after leaving Asalak we entered the mountains, and 
the scenery began to improve tapidly, gradually assuming an 
almost English character; for our way was between green hedge- 
rows, beyond which lay real grass meadows watered by rippling 
mountain streams and dotted with grazing cattle. Towards 
sundown we teached the pretty straggling village of Agh, which 
consists of three distinct groups of houses separated by con- 
siderable intervals of road. We stopped at the last group, just 
before the steepness of the ascent begins. Here I obtained a 
delightful lodging in an upper chamber looking out on the most 
charming landscape imaginable. 

Saturday, 22nd September.—Statted about 7.15 a.m., and at 
once began to ascend steeply towards the pass by which we were 
to enter Mazandaran. The first part of our march was delicious, 
for our road was bordered by moss-grown walls, overshadowed 
by leafy trees, and crossed by innumerable streams, while around 
us lay green grassy fields such as my eyes had not looked upon 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 611 


for many a long day. As we advanced, the ascent grew gradually 
more abrupt, and the path began to climb the mountain side in 
a seties of apparently interminable zigzags which has given to 
it the name of Hazar Cham (“the thousand twists”). At the 
summit of the pass is a little building where we had lunch ere 
commencing the descent into Mazandaran. Our downward 
course lay at first by the side of a rushing river (the Lar, I think), 
which soon plunged into a deep gorge. Far down in this gorge, 
on a little plateau which broke the sheer face of the opposite 
cliff, we could see the village of Ask, of which the mother of 
the Shah’s eldest son, the Zi//v’s-Sultdn, is a native. How it is 
approached I could not imagine, for I could discern no signs 
of a path down the beetling precipice. On our left arose the 
mighty snow-capped cone of Mount Demavend, which can be 
ascended from this side without much difficulty, although the 
inhabitants of the village of Demavend, and, indeed, the gene- 
rality of Persians, believe it to be inaccessible. For on its summit, 
accotding to ancient legend, was chained the tyrant Zahhak by 
Feridun, the deliverer of his country, the avenger of his race, and 
the restorer of the ancient royal house; and the accursed spirit 
of the usurper is popularly supposed still to haunt the cloud- 
capped peak of the mountain. But the inhabitants of the little 
village of René, where we halted for the night, have no such 
supetstitious dread of the mountain, and some of them are in 
the habit of ascending it frequently to collect the sulphur which 
is to be found in a cave neat the summit. 

We left the beautiful Alpine village of René next morning 
(Sunday, 23rd September) about 7.30 a.m. The pretty winding 
road by which we continued to descend was so steep that for 
the first hour or so of our march I preferred to walk. At the 
bottom of the valley we again came to the river. In some places 
this had undermined and washed away the path, so that we were 
obliged to enter the water; but, on the whole, the road was a 
triumph of engineering skill, for soon the valley narrowed into 


39-4 


612 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


a mete cleft with steep rocky sides, out of which the passage had 
been cut. This, the new road, runs along the left (western) side 
of the gorge; on the opposite side were discernible the remains 
of the old road, which had been built out from the cliff instead 
of cut in it. At one point on the new toad a bas-relief of 
Nasiru’d-Din Shah, surrounded by his courtiers, has been carved 
on the rocks. 

About 2 p.m. we passed a village. No lodging was to be found 
there, so we proceeded on our way, halted for lunch in a corn- 
field, and, about 4 p.m., reached a house by a bridge, where 
the muleteer wished to halt for the night. Here also no decent 
lodging was to be found, and consequently, in spite of the 
mutterings of the muleteer, ‘““AAbir Mdzandardn-ast: ché mi-khwd- 
hid?” (After all it is Mazandaran: what would you have?’’), 
we again pushed on, until, about sunset, we came to a little group 
of hovels, half caves, half huts, called Kalovan, where we halted. 
It was a sweet night, and its sweetness was enhanced by the 
shimmer of the moonlight and the murmur of the river; but 
inside the cave-hut, which I shared with the owners, it was close 
and warm, and the gnats were plentiful and aggressive. 

Monday, 24th September—We statted about 7.30 a.m., and 
travelled for some time in the company of a Mazandarani mule- 
teer, who gave me information which I had been unable to obtain 
from my own south-country chdrvdddr as to the position of the 
castle of Sheykh Tabarsi, that once redoubtable stronghold of 
the Babis, which, if possible, I desired to visit before embarking 
at Mashhad-i-Sar. I found that it lay beyond Barfurtsh, between 
that town and Sari, some distance off the main road near a village 
called Karaghil, and that if I were to visit it, it must be from 
Barfurush. 

As we advanced, the valley began to widen out, and the rocky 
cliffs, which had hitherto formed its sides, gave place to wooded 
slopes. In front, too, low wooded hills appeared, while round 
out path the wild pomegranate and other trees grew ever thicker 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 613 


and thicker, so that we could no longer see far about us. Soon 
we wete out of the hill-country altogether, and entered a vast 
forest, where ferns and mosses grew thickly. Ever and anon 
we traversed beautiful glades, on the green sward of which were 
pitched here and there the black tents of nomads, whose cattle 
gtazed peaceably round about the encampment. Save for these 
black tents, and a certain luxuriance of vegetation, the whole 
scene was wonderfully English in appearance, and I could almost 
have believed myself to be already back in my native land. In 
one of these delicious glades we halted for lunch, which con- 
sisted of cold boiled rice and fowl, called in Mazandarani parlance 
““Retté.”’ 

Later in the day the road got terribly bad, being sometimes 
so deep in mud and slush that the beasts could hardly advance. 
Our muleteer had intended to make for a village called Firuz- 
Kulah, but we, being somewhat in advance, passed the point 
where the road thither diverged from the road to Amul, and were 
already some way advanced on the latter when the muleteer 
overtook us. A violent altercation arose between him and Haji 
Safar, for he would have had us turn back; but, learning from 
an old peasant who happened to pass by that Amu] was distant 
. but one parasang, we insisted on proceeding thither, and the 
muleteer was finally compelled to a sullen submission. 

Again the character of the country underwent a sudden 
change; for, emerging from the dense forest, we entered on a 
flat fenny plain, covered with long sedge-like grasses and tall 
bulrushes, and dotted with marshy pools and grazing cattle. 
About 6 p.m. we passed a little village with thatched cottages 
(which seemed strangely out of place in Persia, that land of 
clay houses and flat roofs), interspersed amongst which were 
curious wooden erections, each composed of four stout poles 
set vertically in the ground and supporting a sloping thatch. 
Beneath this, at a distance of some feet, was a sort of platform 
on which carpets and pillows were spread. I supposed that the 


614 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


inhabitants slept on these platforms during the hot weather to 
escape the mosquitoes, but Haji Safar said that it was to avoid 
the low-lying fogs which at night-time spread themselves over 
the surface of the ground. 

About half an hour after passing this village we reached 
Amul, one of the chief cities of Mazandaran, a picturesque 
straggling town divided into two parts by a large river, which 
is spanned by a long narrow bridge built of bricks. Crossing 
this bridge, we found quarters for the night in the house of a 
respectable citizen, but though the room allotted to me was clean 
and comfortable enough, the close, moist air, mosquitoes, and 
vagtant cats combined to keep me awake for some time. 

Tuesday, 25th September—We started about 7.30 a.m., and 
all day our course lay through flat marshy fen-lands, covered 
with rushes, sedges, and scrubby bushes. Snakes, lizards (some 
large and green, others small and brown), tortoises, and frogs 
abounded in and about the numerous stagnant pools by which 
we passed. The toad was in many places little better than the 
suttrounding quagmire, sometimes hardly discernible; and this 
notwithstanding the fact that it is the main highway between 
two of the chief cities of Mazandaran. About 5 p.m. we crossed 
the river Babul by a fine bridge, and, turning sharply to the left 
(north) along its eastern bank, traversed a great common, used 
as a gtazing-eround for cattle, and in a few minutes entered 
Barfuruish. On our right, as we entered, was a large lake covered 
with water-lilies, in the centre of which was an island. This 
island was joined to the shore by a bridge, and on it stood a 
summet-palace (called Bagh-i-Shdh, “the King’s Garden”’), which 
serves the Shah as a residence when he visits this part of his 
dominions. Farther on we passed, just outside the town, the 
catavansatay (now in ruins) where the Babis under Mulla Huseyn 
of Bushtaweyh, “‘the First Letter of Affirmation,” defended 
themselves against the townsfolk of Barfurtish in the conflict 
which preceded the fiercer struggle at Sheykh Tabarsi. Entering 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 615 


the town, the spacious square of the Sabzé Meyddn, or Herb 
Market, turned my thoughts to the concluding catastrophe of 
the great struggle of 1848-9, for there, in the summer of the latter 
year, Mulla Muhammad ‘Ali of Barfurtsh, called by the Babis 
** Jendb-i-Kuddis”’ (“His Excellence the Most Holy’’), suffered 
death, together with the chief of his surviving lieutenants, at 
the hands of the Sa‘tdu’/‘Ulamd and his myrmidons. As we 
entered the main street of the city we found one of the Muharram 
representations (Za‘ziyas) in progress, and some of the people 
would have had us turn aside; but we continued on our way, 
while I wondered whether the Bab’s prophecy would ever be 
fulfilled, that a day would come when in these spots, hallowed 
by the blood of his martyrs, representations of their sufferings 
and steadfastness should move the sympathetic lamentations and 
tears of the children of those who slew them, and obliterate the 
remembrance of the martyrs of Kerbela. 

The town of Barfurtish is much finer and larger than Amul, 
but less picturesque and old-world. We alighted at a rather 
dilapidated caravansaray near the centre of the town. Here | 
was visited in the course of the evening by a native of Kabul, 
a British subject, who showed me his passport with evident 
pride, and by one or two other persons, who informed me that 
the Russian ambassador had on the previous day passed through 
the town on his way to Sari, whence, as I understood, he pro- 
posed to return to his own country by ship from Astarabad. I 
enquired of my visitors concerning Sheykh Tabarsi, which I still 
eagerly desired to visit. They told me that it was two parasangs 
distant from Barfurtsh, to the south-east; and that the Babis, 
drawing an analogy from the early history of Islam, called it 
“Kerbela,” Barfurish “Kiufa,” and the lake surrounding the 
Bagh-i-Shah “the Euphrates” (Furd#), and were still in the habit 
of making pilgrimages thither. 

In the evening, after supper, I summoned Haji Safar, told him 
of my wish to visit Sheykh Tabarsi, and asked him whether it 


616 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


would be possible to do so. After thinking for a little while, 
he replied that as we must necessarily be at the port of Mashhad-i- 
Sat by nightfall on the following day to be in time for the steamer, 
which was to leave early on Thursday morning, the only practic- 
able plan was that he should, if possible, secure the services of 
a competent guide and two stout Mazandarani ponies to convey 
me to the shrine and back to Barfurush, and thence on, after 
a short rest, to Mashhad-i-Sar, whither he himself would proceed 
direct with the baggage. “All depends,” he concluded, “‘on my 
success in finding a guide. If I can find one, I will wake you 
betimes in the morning, for you must start early; if not, you must 
perforce relinquish the project.” 

Next morning (Wednesday, 26th September) Haji Safar awoke 
me about 7 with the welcome intelligence that he had found a 
shopkeeper of Barfurush, who owned two ponies, and was well 
acquainted with the road to Sheykh Tabarsi, whither, for a 
consideration, he was willing to guide me. While I was drinking 
my morning tea the aforesaid guide, an honest-looking, burly 
fellow, appeared in person. 

“Well,” said he, “I hear you want to visit Tabarsi; what 
for is no concern of mine, though why a Firangi should desire 
to go there bafles my understanding. However, I am ready to 
take you, if you will give me a suitable present for my trouble. 
But we must start at once, for it is two good parasangs there 
overt the worst of ground, and you must, as I understand, get to 
Mashhad-i-Sar this evening, so that you should be back here at 
least two or three hours before sunset. If you don’t like fatigue 
and hard work you had better give up the idea, What do you 
say? Wall you go or not?” 

“Of course I will go,” I replied; “for what else did I seek you 
out?” 

“Well said!” replied my guide, patting me on the shoulder; 
“then let us be off without delay.” 

In a few minutes we were in the saddle, and moving rapidly 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 617 


along the high-road to Sari on our sturdy, wiry little Mazan- 
darani ponies. “Whither away?” cried some of my guide’s 
acquaintance as we clattered out of the town. “Sheykh,” he 
replied laconically; whereat expressions of surprise and curiosity, 
which we did not stop to answer, would burst from our in- 
terrogators. Soon we left the high-road, and, striking across 
a broad, grassy common, entered trackless swamps and forests, 
in which my guide, well as he knew the country, was sometimes 
at fault; for the water lay deep on the rice-fields, and only the 
peasants whom we occasionally met could tell us whether or no 
a particular passage was possible. After crossing the swampy 
tice-fields, we came to thickets and woods, intersected by the 
narrowest and muddiest of paths, and overgrown with branches, 
through which we forced our arduous way. Thence, after fording 
a river with steep mud banks, we entered on pleasant open downs, 
and, traversing several small coppices, arrived about 10.30 a.m. 
at the lonely shrine of Sheykh Ahmad ibn Abi Talib-i-Tabarsi 
(so stands the name of the buried saint on a tablet inscribed with 
the form of words used for his “‘visitation”? which hangs sus- 
pended from the railings surrounding his tomb), rendered im- 
mortal by the gallantry of the Babi insurgents, who for nine 
months (October 1848 to July 1849) held it against overwhelming 
numbers of regulars and volunteers. 

Sheykh Tabarsi is a place of little natural strength; and of 
the elaborate fortifications, said by the Musulman historians to 
have been constructed by the Babis, no trace remains. It con- 
sists at present of a flat, grassy enclosure surrounded by a hedge, 
and containing, besides the buildings of the shrine and another 
building at the gateway (opposite to which, but outside the 
enclosure, stands the house of the mutawal//, or custodian: of 
the shrine), nothing but two or three orange-trees and a few rude 
graves covered with flat stones, the last resting-places, perhaps, 
of some of the Babi defenders. The building at the gateway 1s 
two storeys high, is traversed by the passage giving access to 


618 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


the enclosure, and is roofed with tiles. The buildings of the shrine, 
which stand at the farther end of the enclosure, are rather more 
elaborate. Their greatest length (about twenty paces) lies east 
and west; their breadth is about ten paces; and, besides the covered 
portico at the entrance, they contain two rooms scantily lighted 
by wooden gratings over the doors. The tomb of the Sheykh, 
from whom the place takes its name, stands surrounded by 
wooden tailings in the centre of the inner room, to which 
access is obtained either by a door communicating with the 
outer chamber, or by a door opening externally into the 
enclosure. 

My guide, believing, no doubt, that I was at heart a Babi 
come to visit the graves of the martyrs of my religion, con- 
siderately withdrew to the mutawalli’s house and left me to my 
own devices for about three-quarters of an hour. I was still 
engaged in making rough plans and sketches of the place', 
however, when he returned to remind me that we could not afford 
to delay much longer. So, not very willingly, yet greatly com- 
forted at having successfully accomplished this final pilgrimage, 
I mounted, and we rode back by the way we had come to 
Barfursh, where we arrived about 3 p.m. “You are a Haji 
now,” said my guide laughingly, as we drew near the town, 
“and you ought to reward me liberally for this day’s work; for I 
tell you that there are hundreds of Babis who come here to visit 
Sheykh Tabarsi and can find no one to guide them thither, and 
these would almost give their ears to go where you have gone 
and see what you have seen.”” So when we alighted at a caravan- 
saray near his house I gave him a sum of money with which he 
appeared well content, and he, in return, set tea before me, and 
then came and sat with me a while, telling me, with some 
amusement, of the wonderings and speculations which my visit 
to Sheykh Tabarsi had provoked amongst the townsfolk. ““Some 


1 These will be found in my translation of the New History, published by 
the Cambridge University Press. 


OE a ne 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 619 


say you must be a Babi,” he concluded, “but most incline to 
the belief that you have been there to look for buried treasure, 
‘for,’ say they, ‘who ever heard of a Firangi who cared about 
religion, and in any case what has a Firangi to do with the 
Babis?’ I, for my part, have done my best to encourage them 
in this belief; what took you to Tabarsi is no business either 
of theirs or of mine.” 

When I had rested for a while, a horse, on which was set 
a pdlin, or pack-saddle, instead of an ordinary saddle, was 
brought round. My guide apologised for not himself conducting 
me to Mashhad-i-Sar, adding that he had provided a guide who 
knew the way well. With this new guide, a barefooted stripling, 
I set off for my last ride in Persia. Our way lay at first through 
beautiful shady lanes, and thriving villages composed of thatched 
cottages, both singularly English in appearance; and we made 
good progress until, about two miles from Mashhad-i-Sar, we 
emerged on the bare links or downs which skirt the coast, and 
almost simultaneously darkness began to fall. Here we lost our 
way for a while, until set in the road by an old villager; and at 
length, about 7.30 p.m., after traversing more lanes over- 
shadowed by trees and brilliant with glow-worms, we saw the 
welcome light of the caravansaray which stands hard by the sea- 
shore at some distance beyond the village. 

That night was my last on Persian soil, but I had little time 
to indulge in sentimental reflections, for it was late when I had 
finished my supper, and I had to dispose my baggage for a 
different manner of travelling from that to which I had been 
so long accustomed, besides settling up with Haji Safar. I paid 
him 163 &rdus in all (about £5), of which sixty krdus were for 
his wages during September, thirty &rdus for the first half of 
October (for he would not teach Teheran for ten days probably), 
forty Ardns for the hire of the horse I had ridden, and thirty- 
three &rdns for journey-money. I also made over to him my 
saddle, saddle-bags, and cooking utensils, as well as some well- 


620 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


worn clothes, and further entrusted to him my revolver, which 
he was to give to one of my friends in Teheran as a keepsake, 
together with several letters. This done, I retired to rest and slept 
soundly. 

Next morning (Thursday, 27th September) Haji Safar woke 
me early, telling me that the steamer was in sight. This proved 
to be a false alarm, and when I went to the Russian agents (who 
had an office in the caravansaray) they declined to give me my 
ticket until the steamer actually appeared. These two agents 
either were, or feigned to be, excessively stupid; they affected 
not to understand either Persian or French, and refused to take 
payment for the ticket in anything but Russian money, so that 
it was fortunate that I had in Teheran provided myself with a 
certain quantity of rouble notes. Finally the steamer hove in 
sight, the ticket was bought for twenty-five roubles, and I 
hastened down to the shore of the estuary, where several large 
clumsy boats were preparing to put off to her. 

It was with genuine regret that I turned for a moment before 
stepping into the boat to bid farewell to Persia (which, notwith- 
standing all her faults, I had come to love very dearly) and the 
faithful and efficient Haji Safar. He had served me well, and to 
his intelligence and enterprise | owed much. He was not perfect 
—what man is?—but if ever it be my lot to visit these lands 
again, | would wish no better than to secure the services of him, 
ot one like him. I slipped into his hands a bag of money which I 
had reserved for a parting present, and with a few brief words 
of farewell, stepped into the boat, which at once cast off from 
the shore, and, hoisting a sail, stood out towards the Russian 
steamer. The sea grew rougher as we left the shelter of the 
estuary, but with the sail we advanced quickly, and about 
8.15 a.m. I climbed on board the Emperor Alexander, and, for 
the first time for many months, felt myself, with a sudden sense 
of loneliness, a stranger in the midst of strangers. 

The only passengers who embarked besides myself were two 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 621 


ot three Persians bound for Mashhad, and with these I con- 
vetsed fitfully (knowing not when next I might find chance of 
speech in an intelligible tongue) till we entered the vessel, when 
they took up their station forward as deck passengers, and I 
descended to the cabin. At 9 the steamer had turned about (for 
Mashhad-i-Sar is the end of this line) and was running eastwards 
for Bandar-i-Gaz, the port of Astarabad. 

About 10.30 a bell announced breakfast, and I again descended 
to the cabin. I was the only cabin passenger, and on entering 
the saloon I was surprised to see two tables laid. At one were 
seated the officers of the vessel (three or four in number), busily 
engaged in the consumption of sardines, caviate, cheese, roasted 
potatoes, and the like, which they were washing down with 
nips of vodka, a sttong spirit, resembling the Persian ‘arak. The - 
other table was laid with plates, but the places were vacant. 
Wondering whether the officers were too proud to sit down at 
the same table with the passengers, I stood hesitating, observing 
which, one of the officers called out to me in English, asking me 
whether I felt sick. I indignantly repudiated the imputation, 
whereupon he bade me join them at their “Zakouski.”’ So I sat 
down with them; and, after doing justice to the.caviare and 
cheese, we moved on to the other table and had a substantial 
déjeuner. At 6.30 in the evening we had another similar meal, 
also preceded by Zakouski. 

At 4 p.m. we teached Bandar-i-Gaz, the port of Astarabad, 
and anchored close to the shore, by a wooden barge serving as 
a pier, in full view of the little island of Ashurada. This now 
belongs to the Russians (who first occupied it on the pretext 
of checking the Turcoman pirates who formerly infested this 
corner of the Caspian, and then declined to give it back to 
the Persians), and around it several Russian war-ships were 
anchored. Some of their officers came on board our steamer, 
and later in the evening rockets were sent up from them in 
honour, as I suppose, of the Russian Ambassador, who, so far 


622 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


as I could learn (for everyone was very reticent and uncom- 
panionable), was in the neighbourhood. 

I went to sleep that night with the sweet scent of the forests 
of Mazandaran in my nostrils (for the wind was off the shore); 
but when I went on deck next morning (Friday, 28th September) 
not a tree was in sight, but only a long line of yellow sand-dunes, 
which marked the inhospitable Turcoman coast, whence in 
bygone days, ere the Russians stepped in and put a stop to their 
marauding, the Turcoman pirates issued forth to harry the fertile 
Persian lands, and bear back with them, to hateful bondage, hosts 
of unfortunate captives destined for sale in the slave-markets of 
Samarkand and Bukhara. At about mid-day we anchored off 
Chekishlar, where a number of Russian officers, two ladies, and 
a child, came on board to breakfast on the steamer. Immediately 
after breakfast we again stood out to sea. 

That evening an official of the Russian police (who, I suppose, 
had come on board at Chekishlar) came up to me with one of 
the officers of the boat and demanded my passport, which, he 
said, would be returned to me at the Custom-House at Baku. I 
was very loth to part with it, but there was no help for it; and, 
inwatdly chafing, I surrendered to him the precious document. 

Early next morning (Saturday, 29th September) I awoke to 
find the vessel steaming along between a double row of sand- 
dunes towards Uziin-Ada (“Long-Island”), the point whence 
the Russian railway to Bukhara and Samarkand takes its de- 
parture. Passing the narrows, we anchored alongside the quay 
about 8.30 a.m. Being without my passport (which had probably 
been taken from me expressly to prevent me from leaving the 
steamer) I could not, even if I would, have gone on shore. But 
indeed there was little to tempt me, for a more unattractive spot 
I have seldom seen. It seemed to consist almost entirely of rail- 
way-stations, barracks, police-stations, and custom-houses, set 
in wastes of sand, infinite and immeasurable, and the Turcoman 
seemed to bear but a small proportion to the Russian inhabitants. 


a 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 623 


A number of passengers came on board here, all of whom, save 
one lady and three children, were Russian officers. The deck, too, 
was crowded with soldiers, who, after dinner, at a sign from 
their officer, burst out into a song with a chorus like the howling 
of wolves, which, I supposed, was intended for a national 
anthem. On retiring to my cabin I found to my disgust that my 
berth had been appropriated by a Russian officer, who had 
ejected my possessions and now lay there snoring hideously. I 
was angered at his discourtesy, but deemed it wisest to make no 
remonstrance. From my short experience of Russian travelling 
I should suppose that their military men make a point of occupy- 
ing places already taken in preference to such as ate vacant—at 
any rate, when the occupant is a civilian and a foreigner. 

I woke about 6.30 a.m. on the following morning (Sunday, 
30th September) to find myself at Baku (or Badkubé, as it is 
called by the Persians). Somehow or other I escaped the ordeal 
of the Custom-House; for, intending at first to breakfast on board, 
I did not disembark with the other passengers, and when after- 
watds, changing my mind, I went on shore, about 9.30 a.m., 
the pier was free of excisemen, and I had nothing to do but step 
into a cab and drive to the station, stopping on the way at a 
Persian money-changer’s to convert the remainder of my Persian 
money into rouble notes. 

The train did not start till 2.37 p.m., so I had some time to 
wait at the station, where I had lunch. The porters were inefficient 
and uncivil, the train crowded, and the scenery monotonous in 
the extreme, so that my long railway journey began under rather 
depressing auspices. Still there was a certain novelty in finding 
myself once more in a train, and after a while I was cheered by 
the entrance into my compartment of two Musulmans of the 
Caucasus. With these I entered into conversation in Turkish, for 
which I presently substituted Persian on finding that one of them 
was familiar with that language. But I had hardly spoken ten 
words when a Russian officer, who sat next me on the right, and 


624 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


with whom I had had a slight altercation in French about one 
of my portmanteaux, which he alleged to be insecurely balanced 
in the rack, leaned forward with an appearance of interest, and 
then addressed me in perfectly idiomatic Persian. I discovered 
that he had been born in Persia (near Burtjird, I think), and 
had learned Persian almost as his native language. To both of 
us, I think, but to myself certainly, it was a pleasure to speak it, 
and we became quite friendly. 

I had intended to stay a day at Tiflis, where we arrived at 
8.15 next morning (Monday, 1st October), but the friendly 
officer told me that the steamers for Odessa left Batoum on 
Tuesdays and Thursdays, and that, after cities more truly 
Oriental in character, Tiflis would offer but little attraction to 
me, so I determined to continue my journey without halt, in 
otder to catch the mortow’s boat. I had some difficulty in 
cetting my ticket and finding my train, as no one seemed to 
talk anything but Russian, but at last I succeeded, though only 
after a waste of time which prevented me from making more 
than the most unsubstantial and desultory breakfast. This, how- 
ever, was of little consequence, for I never knew any railway 
on which there were such frequent and prolonged stoppages for 
refreshment, or any tefreshment-rooms so well provided and 
so well managed. The fact that there is only one train a day each 
way no doubt makes it easier to have all these savoury dishes and 
steaming samovars (tea-urns) ready for passengers on their arrival, 
but at no railway station in Europe have I seen food at once so 
cheap, so good, and so well served as in the stations of the 
Trans-Caucasian line. 

The scenery on leaving Tiflis was fine, and at one point we 
caught a glimpse of splendid snow-capped mountains to the 
north; but on the whole I was disappointed, for the line lies so 
much in narrow valleys which bar the outlook that little is to 
be seen of the great Caucasian range. What could be seen of the 
country from the train was pretty rather than grand, and I was 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 625 


notsorry to reach Batoumatabout 11.15 p.m., where I put up at the 
Hotel de France, and, forthe first time since leaving Teheran eleven 
days previously, enjoyed the luxury of sleeping between sheets. 

As the steamer for Odessa was not to leave Batoum till 
3.30 p.m. on the following day (Tuesday, 2nd October), I had 
all the morning to look about me, but the town presented few 
features of interest, and the only thing that aroused my wonder 
was the completely European character assumed by a place 
which had only ceased to be Turkish twelve years before. I was 
vety glad to embark on the steamer, which actually started about 
4 p.m. Dinner was at 6, and afterwards I stayed on deck till 
after 11, when we arrived at Sukhoum-Kala. 

Next evening (Wednesday, 3rd October) we reached Novo- 
Rassayask about 5 p.m., and lay there till late at night. There 
were sevetal wart-vessels in the fine harbour, which continued 
throughout the evening to send up rockets and flash the electric 
light from point to point. 

Early on the morning of Thursday, 4th October, we reached 
Kertch, where, amongst other passengers, a very loquacious 
_ American came on board. He had been spending some time 
amongst the Russians, whom he did not much like or admire, 
though, as he told me, he believed them to be the coming nation. 

Friday, 5th October—Reached Yalta about 5 a.m., and lay 
there till 8. It is a very beautiful place, and I was told that the 
drive thence to Sebastopol along the coast traverses scenery so 
fair that it has been called “‘the Earthly Paradise.” At 1.30 p.m. 
we reached Sebastopol, where the American left the steamer. The 
harbour struck me as very fine, but I, ignorant of things military, 
should never have guessed that the place would be a position 
of such remarkable strength. 

On the following morning (Saturday, 6th October) we reached 
Odessa before 7 a.m. There was no Customs’ examination, as 
we came from a Russian port, and I drove straight to the Hotel 
d’Europe, thinking that my troubles were over, and that from 


B 40 


626 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


this point onwards all would be plain sailing. Here, however, 
I was greatly out of my reckoning, as will shortly appear; for 
while I was visiting an English ship-owner, to whom I had a 
letter of introduction, he enquired whether I had had my passport 
visé for departure from Russia. I replied that I had not,‘as I was 
unawate that it was necessary. “Then,” said he, “you had best 
get it done at once if you wish to leave this evening; give it to 
me, and I will send a man with it to your hotel that your landlord 
may see to it.” I did so, and sat chatting there for another 
quarter of an hour, when we were interrupted by a telephonic 
message informing me that my presence was necessary. 

The landlord met me at the hotel door. “I am afraid you 
will not be able to get your visa to-day,” said he, “‘for it is past 
noon, and if the police grant it, it will only be as an act of grace. 
Your only chance is to take a cab, drive direct to the police- 
station, and request the prefect as a favour to visa your passport, 
explaining to him that you have but just arrived and wish to 
start to-night.” 

Fruitless errand, to seek such grace from the Russian police! 
Whether I offended them by omitting to remove my hat on 
entering the office I know not; probably this had something to 
do with it, for a man cried out at me in anger through a pigeon- 
hole, and was only quieted when I uncovered my head. Then it 
was some time before I could find anyone who spoke anything 
but Russian; but at last I was shown into an inner room where 
two men sat at a table, one portly, irascible, and clad in uniform; 
the other thin, white-haired, smooth-shaven, and sinister of 
countenance. I presented my passport, and explained in French 
the reasons which had prevented me from coming sooner, adding 
that I should feel deeply obliged if they would grant me the visa. 
The wizen-faced man answered in a high peevish voice in very 
bad French that I must come to-morrow. 

“T cannot come to-morrow,” I replied, “‘for I must leave to- 


night.” 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 627 


“You cannot leave to-night,” he retorted as his portly 
colleague threw the passport back to me across the table; “‘if 
you wished to leave to-night you should have come earlier.” 

“But I tell you that I only arrived this morning,” I answered. 

“Then you must stay till to-morrow,” they answered; and 
when I would have remonstrated, ‘““Go,”? shouted the man in 
the uniform, “you waste our time and yours.” And so, gulping 
down my anger and pocketing my passport, I left the office. 

Here was a pleasant state of things! I was in hot haste to 
get back to England; I had travelled as fast as I could from the 
Persian capital, not even stopping at Tiflis, where I would gladly 
have spent a day; and now there seemed every likelihood of my 
being detained in this detestable Odessa for the whim of a Russian 
prefect of police. I asked my friend the ship-owner what I 
should do. 

“T am afraid,” said he, “that you can do nothing now. You 
seem to have offended the susceptibilities of the police in some 
way, and they will certainly not do anything to accommodate 
you, for their will is absolute, and argument is useless. A judicious 
bribe might have smoothed matters over if you had known how 
to give it and to whom, but I fear that the time for that has 
passed.” 

““Are you sure the passport needs a visa at all?” I enquired, 
remembering that the words “bon pour se rendre en Angleterre par 
voie de la Russie” had been inscribed on it at the English Embassy 
after it had received the Russian visa at Teheran. My friend was 
at first inclined to maintain that the visa was indispensable, but 
I asked why, as I was not stopping even a single night at Odessa, 
and as I was travelling straight through Russia as fast as possible, 
it should need a visa here more than at Baku or any other town 
through which I had passed. Then he called a clerk more ex- 
perienced in the ways of Russia than himself and asked his 
opinion. The clerk finally gave it as his decision that the passport 
was good without the visa of the Odessa police, unless the latter, 


40-2 


628 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


apprehending my departure, should telegraph to the frontier 
stations not to let me pass. 

“Well,” said I, “‘the practical point is this, would you advise 
me to take this evening’s train or not?” 

“T hardly like to advise you,” replied my friend, “but if I 
wete in your place I should go and risk it.” 

“Tn that case,” I rejoined, after a moment’s reflection, “I will 

90. : 
I had some difficulty with the hotel-keeper ere he would con- 
sent to my departure, but at length, to my great relief, 1 found 
myself, with a ticket for Berlin in my pocket, ensconced in a 
compartment of the 7.40 p.m. train for the West. A pleasant and 
kindly Austrian who was returning to Vienna, and who would 
therefore bear me company as far as Oswiecim, was my fellow- 
traveller. He spoke English well, and gave me much seasonable 
help both at the Russian and the Austrian frontiers. 

It was an anxious moment for me when, about 9 a.m. on 
the following day (Sunday, 7th October), the train steamed 
into the Russian frontier station of Woloczyska, and we were 
bidden to alight for the inspection of passports. A peremptory 
official collected these and disappeared with them into an office, 
while we waited anxiously outside. Presently he appeared with 
a handful of them and began to call out the names of the possessors, 
each of whom, as his name was called, stepped forward and 
claimed his passport. I waited anxiously, for mine was not there. 
The official retired to his office and again emerged with another 
sheaf of papers, and still I waited in vain, till all but one or two 
of the passports had been returned to their owners. “‘Haven’t 
you got your passport yet?” enquired the kindly Austrian. ‘‘ The 
train is just going to start.” “I don’t know what has become of 
it,” I answered despairingly, making sure that my detention 
had been resolved upon. Thereupon he stepped forward and 
addressed the official, who in reply produced two or three pass- 
potts, amongst which I recognised my own. I was very near 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 629 


trying to snatch it out of his hand, but luckily I restrained myself. 
“That is mine,” I exclaimed. The Austrian translated what I 
had said to the official, who, after staring at me for a moment, 
threw the precious document to me. “He was surprised,” said 
the Austrian, “‘to see so vast a collection of strange visas and 
inscriptions on the papers of a young man like you.” 

So much time had been consumed thus that I had to forgo 
all hope of breakfast, and thought myself fortunate in finding a 
few moments to change my Russian into Austrian money. Then 
I re-entered the train, and indescribable was my satisfaction when 
we steamed out of the station and left Russia behind us. The 
people, I doubt not, are honest and kindly folk, but the system 
of police supervision and constant restraint which prevails is, 
to an Englishman unused to such interference, well-nigh in- 
tolerable. I had suffered more annoyance during the few days 
of my passage through Russian territory than during all the rest 
of my journey. 

Not yet, however, were my troubles over. Five minutes after 
leaving Woloczyska the train pulls up at the Austrian frontier 
station of Podwoloczyska for the Austrian Customs’ examina- 
tion. As it began to slacken speed, my Austrian friend asked 
me whether I anticipated any trouble there. I answered in the 
negative. 

“What, for instance,” said he, “have you in that wooden box?” 

The box in question contained a handsome silver coffee- 
service of Persian workmanship, which a Persian gentleman, to 
whom I was under great obligations, had asked me to convey 
for him to one of his friends in England. I told my Austrian 
fellow-traveller this, whereupon he exclaimed:— 

“A silver coffee-service! You will have trouble enough with 
it, ot 1 am much mistaken. Why, do you not know that the 
Custom-House regulations in Austria as to the importation of 
silver are most stringent? You will be lucky if they do not 
confiscate it and melt it down.” 


630 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


I was greatly disquieted at this information, for I felt myself 
bound in honour to convey the silver entrusted to me safely 
to its destination; and I asked my companion what I had best do. 

“Well,” he said, ““you must declare it at once on your arrival, 
and demand to have it sealed up for transmission to the Prussian 
frontier station of Oswiecim. I will give you what help I can.” 

I had another bad time at Podwoloczyska, but at length, 
thanks to the good offices of my fellow-traveller, the box con- 
taining the silver was sealed up with leaden seals and registered 
through to Oswiecim. All my luggage was subjected to an 
exhaustive examination, and everything of which the use was 
not perfectly apparent (such as my medicine chest and the 
Wolseley valise), was placed in the contraband parcel, for which 
I had to pay a considerable additional sum for registration. All 
this took time, and here, too, I had to abandon all idea of break- 
fast. By the time we reached Lemberg, at about 2 p.m., I was 
extremely hungry, having had practically nothing to eat since 
leaving Odessa on the previous evening; and I was glad to 
secure a luncheon-basket, the contents of which I had plenty 
of time to consume ere we reached the next station, where it 
was temoved. 

My original intention was to stay the night at Cracow, as 
I found that I should gain nothing by pushing on to Oswiecim, 
but now, seeing that the bundle containing the silver entrusted 
to my care must go through to the frontier, and anticipating 
further troubles at the Prussian Custom-House, I changed my 
plan, and, on arriving at Cracow, alighted from the train, tre- 
claimed that portion of my luggage registered from Odessa, 
and re-registered it to Oswiecim, the Prussian frontier station 
and the point where the Vienna and Berlin lines diverge. I had 
just time to effect this ere the train started again. 

At 11.30 on the night of this miserable day the train stopped 
at Oswiecim, and I emerged into the black wet night, the cheer- 
lessness of which was revealed rather than mitigated by a few 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 631 


feeble oil lamps. With some difficulty I found a porter (for the 
place seemed wrapped in slumber), who, making me leave all 
my luggage in a locked room to await the Customs’ examination 
on the morrow, and suffering me to retain only my greatcoat, 
led me through a perfect sea of mud to the miserable hotel 
opposite the station. There was a light in one of the windows, 
but, though we knocked vigorously for some time, no one came. 
At last the door was opened, on a chain, by a most ill-looking 
fellow, clad in a night-shirt and trousers, with a beard of two days’ 
growth on his ugly chin. So little did I like his looks that I did 
not press for admission, which he on his part showed no in- 
clination to grant me. So I returned to the empty waiting-room 
of the station, with its dimly-lighted, beery, smoke-laden atmo- 
sphere, thinking that after all I should not be much wotse off 
sleeping on the wooden bench which ran round the walls, than 
in some of the Turkish stables and Mazandarani hovels to which 
I had become inured in the course of my travels. 

I do not think that the porter who accompanied me spoke 
German very fluently, and, as I could hardly speak it at all, 
communication was difficult. Tired out, wet, and discouraged, 
I was anxious to throw myself on the bench and forget my 
troubles in sleep. Yet still the porter stood by me, striving, as 
I supposed, to express his regret at my being compelled to pass 
so uncomfortable a night. So I roused myself, and, as well as 
I could, told him that it was really of no consequence, since I 
had passed many a good night in quarters no more luxurious. 
“This will do very well till the morning,” I concluded, as I 
again threw myself down on the bench, thinking of that favourite 
aphorism of the Persians under such circumstances as those in 
which I found myself, “ Akbir yak shab-ast, na hazdr’’ (“ After all, 
it is for one night, not a thousand”’). 

“Tt might do very well,” explained the porter, “if you could 
stop here, but you cannot. Weare going to shut up the station.” 

I again sprang to my feet. “I can’t spend the night walking 


632 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


about in the rain,” I remonstrated, “‘and you see that the hotel 
will not admit me. Where am I to go?” 

“Ay, that’s just the question,” retorted he. 

We again emerged on to the platform, and my porter took 
counsel with some other station officials; but from the way they 
shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders I inferred that 
my chances of being allowed to remain there were but small. 
Finally, a gendarme with a gun and bayonet appeared, and I was 
invited to follow him, which I did apathetically, without the 
least idea as to whither we were bound. 

Tramping after my guide through dark muddy lanes, I pre- 
sently found myself at the door of a house, where the gendarme 
bade me wait for a minute while he entered. Presently, after 
much wrangling in Polish, he again emerged, and beckoned to 
me to follow him. We passed through an outer bedroom where 
several persons were sleeping, and entered a smaller inner toom 
containing two beds, occupied by the owner of the house and 
his son. Between the former and my guide a further altercation 
ensued, and it seemed as though here also I was to find no rest. 
At last the owner of the house got out of bed, led me to a sott 
of window looking into an adjacent room which I had not 
hitherto noticed, and, pointing to a mass of human beings 
(vagrants, I suppose) sleeping huddled together on the floor, 
remarked that it was “pretty full in there.” 

I stepped back in consternation. “‘ Well,” continued he, “‘will 
you stay?” 

“I must stay somewhere,” I replied; “I am not allowed to 
stop in the railway station, I can’t get into the hotel, and you can 
hardly expect me to spend the night out of doors in the rain.” 

“Well, you can sleep on that bench,” said he, pointing to one 
which stood by the wall. I signified assent, and, as the gendarme 
prepared to depart, I offered him a small silver coin which looked 
like a sixpence. The effect was most happy. It had never occurred 
to me that these people would suppose me to be absolutely 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 633 


impecunious, but I fancy that this was the case, and that I did 
not sufficiently realise how shabby my appearance was in the 
old travel-stained clothes which I wore. At all events, the pro- 
duction of this little piece of silver acted like magic. My host, 
after asking the gendarme to let him look at it, turned to me 
with a marked increase of courtesy, and asked me whether I 
would like a bolster laid on the bench and some blankets whetre- 
with to cover myself. I replied that I should, and ventured 
to suggest that if he had any bread in the house I should be glad 
of some, as I was ravenously hungry. “Cheese?” he enquired. 
I eagerly assented, and further asked for water, instead of which 
he brought me milk. I made a hearty meal, while his little son, 
who had been awakened by the noise, sat up and began to 
question me in bad French, which, as it appeared, he was learning 
at school. 

Altogether I fared much better than I had expected, and, had 
it not been that my socks and boots were wet through, I should 
have been sufficiently comfortable. In the morning they gave 
me breakfast, made me inscribe my name in a book kept for that 
purpose, were delighted to find that I had a passport, and thank- 
fully received the few shillings I gave them. Then’'the porter of 
the ptevious night returned to conduct me to the railway 
station, and I bade farewell to my entertainers, not knowing to 
this day whether or no I had passed that night under the sheltering 
roof of a Polish casual-watrd. 

By reaching the station an hour before the departure of the 
train (which started from Cracow, where I had intended to spend 
the previous night), I hoped to get my luggage cleared at the 
Custom-House, and the silver plate sealed up again for trans- 
mission through Germany in good time. Here again I was 
foiled, however, for I found that the Custom-House officers 
did not put in appearance till the arrival of the train. When they 
did come they were intelligent and courteous enough, but very 
rigorous in their examination of my luggage. About my opium- 


634 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 


pipe, the nature of which (greatly to their credit, I thought) they 
at once recognised, they were especially curious. Then they must 
see the silver coffee-service, at the beauty of which they uttered 
guttural ejaculations of admiration. But when it came to the 
question of sealing it up again for transmission to the Dutch 
frontier, they declared that there was not sufficient time before 
the departure of the train, and that I should have to wait till the 
next, which did not start till the afternoon or evening. 

I was so heartily sick of Oswiecim, and so eager to get to the 
end of my journey, that I could not face the prospect of further 
delay, especially as I had every reason to expect that I should 
have another similar experience at the Dutch frontier; so I 
enquired whether it would not be possible to have the package 
forwarded after me to England. They replied that it would, and 
introduced to me an honest-looking man, named Arnold Haber, 
who, they said, was an agent for the transmission of goods. To 
him, therefore, I confided the care of my precious but trouble- 
some little box, which duly reached me some days after my return 
to Cambridge, with a heavy charge for duty from the Dover 
Custom-House. 

It was with unalloyed satisfaction that I took my seat in the 
train, and, about 10 a.m., left Oswiecim behind me. At 2 p.m. 
I reached Breslau, where I had just time’for a hasty meal, and 
at 10 p.m. I was at Berlin, just in time to see the Flushing night- 
mail, which I had hoped to catch, steam out of the station. So 
here I had to spend the night at a homely comfortable hotel, 
called the Berliner Hof, the luxuries of which a remembrance of 
my last night’s discomfort enabled me to appreciate to the full. 

Next morning (Tuesday, 9th October) I left Berlin at 7.45 a.m. 
for Flushing, and twenty-four hours later, without further 
adventure, landed once more in England. By half-past nine on 
the morning of that day (Wednesday, roth October) I was at 
King’s Cross, debating in my mind whether I should go straight 
to the North, or whether I ought first to visit Cambridge (where 


FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 635 


term had just begun) to report my arrival, and request a week’s 
leave to visit my home. This indecision, however, was of brief 
duration, for my eagerness to see my home again would brook 
no delay, and increased nearness did but beget greater im- 
patience. There are, I suppose, few pleasures in this world 
comparable to the return to a home one loves after a long 
absence abroad; and the realisation of this pleasure I could not 
bring myself to postpone for a moment longer than necessary. 

Thus ended a journey to which, though fraught with fatigues 
and discomforts, and not wholly free from occasional vexations, 
I look back with almost unmixed satisfaction. For such fatigues 
and discomforts (and they were far fewer than might reasonably 
have been expected) I was amply compensated by an enlarged 
knowledge and experience, and a rich store of pleasant memories, 
which would have been cheaply purchased even at a higher 
price. For without toil and fatigue can nothing be accomplished, 
even as an Arab poet has said:-— 

“Wa man talaba’l-“uld min ghayri kaddi 
Ada‘a’l-‘umra ft talabi’l-mubdli.” 


“And he who hopes to scale the heights without enduring pain, 
And toil and strife, but wastes his life in idle quest and vain.” 








INDEX 


ABADE, 118, 189, 230, 25352575387, 567 

Abarkuh, 256, 379, 380-5, 387, 393 

‘Abbas, Shah, “‘the Great,” 188, 242, 
246, 561 

‘Abbas Efendi, Beha’u’llah’s son, 
226, 368, 561 

Abbott, Mr, British Consul at Tabriz, 

ee03s 87 

Ab-i-Marvan, 245 

Abjad, 307 ”. 1, 350, 427-9 

Abraham identified with Zoroaster, 


432-3 

Abu Bekr hated by Persians, 24 z. 1, 
196, 491 

Abt Jahl, 510 

Abu’l-Fazl, Mirza, of Gulpdyagan, 
565 and nv. 1 

Abt’l-Hasan-i-Jilvé, Mirza, 124, 162 

Abw’l-Kasim Fandaraski, Mir, 141 

Abt Lahab, 130 and z. 2 

Abt Nasr Farahi, 116 2. 1 

Abu Zeyd-abad, 599 

Acte (Ad) in Syria, 67, 111, 226 
ANd #42, 228)7°2565273'29, 033 8, 
345 M. 1, 347, 353, 360, 361, 362, 
366 and n. 2, 368 n. 3, 434, 448, 
478) 48 Fa 52 tay 223 920-7, 
538, 552, 560-1, 582, 583, 592 

Adam, 573 

Adharbayjan, 51, 84, 85, 108 

Adrianople, 227 #. 1, 349, 366, 460 

Afghans, 123, 215 

Afnan (title given to Bab’s relatives), 
330, 348, 354, 308 

Afrasiyab, 109 

Agh, 610 

Aghda, 598 

Aghsan (title given to Beha’u’llah’s 
sons, singular Ghysn), 368 


Ahmad, Sheykh, of Ahs4, 351; his 
works, 554 

A’iné-khané (Isfahan), 238 

Aka Muhammad Khan the Kajar, 94, 


310 

Ak4-yi Sirru’ll4h (title of ‘Abbds 

. et Efendi; g2t)366 

Aka-zadas (sons of Haji Muhammad 
Karim Khan), 588 

Akhtar (Persian newspapet), 495 

Al (a kind of hobgoblin), 181 

“Alf (the Imam), 24> 196)+202372797, 
466, 494 

“Ali, Haji Seyyid, the Bab’s uncle, 64 

“Ali, Mulla, of Nur, the philosopher, 


144 
“Ali-abad (near Yezd), 393 
“Ali-lahis, 447 
‘Ali Muhammad, Mirza. See Bab 
“Ali Pasha, 365 and »%. 2 
American missionaries, 63, 93, 101 
115, 163 
Amin-abad, 243, 244 
Aminu’d-Dawla, 179 
Aminu’s-Sultan, 176-82, 454, 480, 
Go2 
Amshaspands, 412 
Amul, 271 . 1, 613-14 
Anat, 463-4, 596 
“Andalib, the Babi poet, 401-2, 433-4, 
436, 438, 442, 448, 597 
Anecdotes, concerning the ma/a, or 
bug of Suma, 72-3 
Sheykh Sa‘di and the young Ata- 
bek, 125-6 
‘Obeyd-i-Zakani’s last will and 
testament, 126-7 
Fath-‘Ali Shah and 
Laureate, 128 


> 


the Poet 


638 


Anecdotes, concerning one who de- 

sited to become invisible, 13 1-2 

Manakji and the mdst-khiydr, 190-4 

The dervish and the five clay 
figures, 195-8 

The gardener, the bear, and the 
snake, 198-9 

The jackals and the dogs, 200-1 

The stinginess of the Isfahanis, 214 

The mountain of Shah Kannab, 
249-50 

The Isfahani, the Shirazi, and the 
Khurasani, 252-3 

Diogenes and the child, 298 

Haji Ibrahim Khan and Aké 
Muhammad Khan, 310-12 

Hafiz and Timur, 394 

The king in disguise, 436-7 

The Niriz insurrection, 441-2 

Sheykh Huseyn, “the Tyrant,” 442 

Haji Kambar, 450 

Jesus Christ and the young man, 
488-9 

‘Ali’s devoutness, 494 

‘Ali’s magnanimity, 494 

A young Babi who defied the 
Sheykhis, 509-10 

Nasir-i-Khusraw, 524 

Sheykh S$ , the Babi courier, 





527-9 
The ass and the Turk, 558 
Antichrist, 237, 479, 510 
Antiquities (see also Cyrus, Tomb of; 
Pasargadae ; Haji-abad) 
Hunting towers of Bahram Gur, 
379 and n. 1 
In the Plain of Abarkth, 385 
Shawwaz, an old castle near Yezd, 


ak 
At Kirman, 485 

Arab conquest of Persia, 134, 415 

“Arak, 77, 80-1, 383, 411 

Ararat, Mount, 44, 49 

Ardabil, 73 

Ardashir-i-Babakan, 485 

Ardessa, 28-9 

Ardistan, 599 

Arg (Citadel) of Tabriz, 63, 495; of 
Shiraz, 316-17 


INDEX 


‘Arif. See Dervishes, Sufis, Mysticism 

Armenians, 22, 23, 30, 31, 32, 35-75 
42, 44, 45, 47, 102, 189, 209, 
220, 297, 314, 319 

Asalak, 610 

Ash-Kal‘a, 34 

‘Ashura (Muharram roth), 603 

Ashurada, 621 

Ask (Mazandaran), 610 

“Ass’s head” (sar-i-khar, ra’su 7l- 
himar), 300, 330 

Astarabad, 621 

Astrology, 158, 316 

Atash-gah (Isfahan), 222 

Avajik, 39, 52 

Avesta. See Zend 

Avicenna, 107 

Ayytb Khan, 123 

‘Azizu’s-Sultan (“ Manijak”’), 113 


BAB (Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad, the), 
| short account of his life, mission, 
and martyrdom, 64-70 
His precocious wisdom, 164 
Portents heralding his birth, 164 
Likened to Christ, 235, 333-4 
Little spoken of by Beha’is, 329 
His relatives, 329-30. See also 
Afndn 
His “‘ Manifestation,” 350-1; fore- 
told by Sufi poets, 356, 599 
He was Christ returned again, 
357-9, 514 
His house at Shiraz, 354, 369, 370-1 
He was a “‘charmer of hearts,” 514 
To what extent he took liberties 
with grammar, 571 
Babis, their early history, 64-70 
Insurrections of, at Zanjan, 71-2, 
81; in Mazandaran, 614-15; at 
Niriz, 441 
Persecutions of, 111-12, 434, 440- 
1, 561-6. See also Martyrs of 
Isfahan 
Difficulty in establishing com- 
munication with, 162-3 
Fortitude under torture of, 163, 


434, 510 
Skill in controversy of, 163, 235 #.1 


INDEX 


Babis (continued): 

Opinion of American missionaries 
concerning, 163-4 

Philosophers and, 161, 165-7 

Strongholds of, 189, 212, 221, 253 

Communications established with, 
224 ef Seq. 

Schism amongst, 70, 226 #. 2, 352, 
561-2. See also Evelis 

Of Isfahan, 223-39 

Of Shiraz, 325, 326-69 

Of Yezd, 400, 431-44, 547 

Of Kirman, 478, 482-3, 485-7, 
492-4, 500-2, 5O7-II, 513-15, 
520-5, 526-42, 545-83, 585, 
590-5 

Of Rafsinjan, 593-5 

Of Teheran, 601 

Their books, 224, 329, 342-6, 
349.1, 303.1, 478, 495%. 1, 
522, §74, 594-6. "See also Beydn, 
tkdn, Kitab-i- Akdas, Lawh, etc. 

Provisional conformity of, with 
ordinances of Islam, 236, 345-6, 
521 

Mutual recognition of, 236 

Nationalist tendencies of, 236 x. 2, 
333-4, 346 

Their couriers, 526-9 

Their missionaries, 296, 329, 362, 
364 

Their poets, 401, 443, 541, 567 

Their places of pilgrimage, 354, 
615-19 

Their new writing (Khatt-i-badt‘), 
327, 340-7, 359 

Their dress in Asia Minor, 522 

Their relations with the Muham- 
madans, 234-7, 248-50, 295-6, 
300, 337, 362, 439, 460, 507-9; 
with the Sheykhis, 351, 509-11, 
556; with the Sufis, 355-6, 438, 
443-7, 548; with the Christians, 
235,443; with the Zoroastrians, 
333-4, 357-8, 431-3, 440 

Their persecutors overtaken by 
Divine vengeance, 441-2. See 
also Béakir, Sheykh 

Their views concerning God, 334, 


639 


444, 536-8; concerning Christ, 
235 4.1, 332-423 concerning pro- 
phetic cycles or dispensations, 
331, 356-7, 434, 436-8, 534-5; 
concerning miracles, 332, 337-8, 
401; concerning the proofs 
needed to establish a prophetic 
claim, 332-3, 339; concerning 
the compulsion of unbelievers, 
334-5, 359, 444-5; concerning 
faith and works, 438, 540; con- 
cerning the future life, 440, sor, 
566, 592; concerning allegorical 
interpretation, 237-9, 337-8 

Gospels appealed to by, 235 #. 1, 
339s 345 

Antinomian, 443-6, 500-1, 520-1, 
532, 538, 576-7 

Impositions on charitable, 494-5, 
523 

Arrogant pretensions of certain, 


5OI 

Baba-Kuhi (Shiraz), 305 

Baboon, 100 

Babul, river, 614 

Badgirs (wind-towers), 396 

Badi‘, Mirza, 111, 434 

Bagh-i-Lalé-zar (Teheran), 104 

Bagh-i-Naw (Shiraz), 293 #. 1, 304 

Bagh-i-Sheykh (Shiraz), 305, 371, 373 

Bagh-i-Takht (Shiraz), 304 

Baghin, 498, 563 

Baghistan, 388 

Bahram-abad (Rafsinjan), 465-8, 594 

Bahram Gur, 379 and #. 1 

Bahram, Shah, the Zoroastrian Mes- 
siah, 432, 484 

Baibutt, 33 

Bajgah, 282 

Bakhtiyaris, 255 

Bakir, Mirza Muhammad, of Ba- 
wanat, 13-16 

Bakir, Sheykh, of Isfahan, 
347, 301, 365, 368 

Baku (Badkubé), 20, 623 

Balasaris, 519 

Balkh-t-Guriz, 392 

Bam, 443 

Bane Abbas, 488 


node Neate E 


640 


Bandar-i-Gaz, 621 
Band-i-Amir. See Bendemeer 
Band-i-Kohrud, 202 
Barbar, Shahr-i-, 459 
Barfurtsh, 612, 614-19 
Barsh, 57 
Bashsiz, 72 
Bas-reliefs, 
612 
Bast (sanctuary), 98, 101, 174 
Batoum, 20, 624 
Bawanat, 257, 392 
Bayezid, 49 
Bedr, Battle of, 135 
Beggars, 80 
Beha’u’d-Din ‘Amili, 141 
Beha’u’llah (Mirza Huseyn “Ali) 
desires all men to become as he is, 
566 
how regarded by Ezelis, 548, 554 
regarded as “a man perfect in hu- 
manity,” 230; as “He whom 
God shall manifest,” 329-30; 
as Christ returned, 337-9, 357, 
433; as the Comforter or Para- 
clete, 341, 434; as the Lord of 
the Vineyard, 434; as Shah 
Bahram, the Zoroastrian Mes- 
siah, 432;.as the Father, 340, 
434; as God, 537 
Biographical details concerning, 
66-7, 70, 226”. 2, 352-3, 559-61 
Devotion inspired by, 365-6, 478, 
485, 592 
His coming only foretold in gene- 
ral terms by the Bab, 357-8 
His death, date of, 226”. 1, 368 2.1 
His divine nature, how understood, 


537-8, 566-7, 594-5 


modernyegs rz 70s. 1, 


His foreknowledge, instances of, 


339, 347-9, 353, 359-65, 443 
His letter to the Shah of Persia, 


III, 434 

His sons, 226 ”. 1, 368. See also 
Aghsidn 

His successor, 226 4. 1, 368 n. 3 

Money demanded in his name, 
574-5 

Visit to, described, 523 


INDEX 


Behjet Bey, Turkish Consul at Ta- 
briz, 63 

Beluchis, 481, 490-2, 510-13 

Beluchistan, 490 

Bendemeer (Band-i- Amir), 280 n. 1 

Berésine, 206 and xz. 1, 426 

Bethune, Sir Henry, 81 

Beyan, 548, 562, 579, 594, 595-6 

Beyaz, 464, 595 

Bibi Shahrbanu, 96 

Blake, Mr, 258, 376-80 

Blue Mosque (Masjid-i-Kabid) at 
Tabriz, 63 

Boot, the Kajar, 441 

“Boulevard des 
IOI-2 

Breath, science of the, 60 

Bruce #Dri216 

Bulghawar, 72 

Bunaft, Castle of, 392 

Burton, Sir Richard, 449 a. 1 

Buz-majjé, 251, 465 


Ambassadeurs,” 


CALENDAR, Babi, ane 
Zoroastrian, 412-1 

Cannabis Indica (hashish), 569 andz. 1 

Caravans of the dead, 78 

Carlyle, 14, 92 

Carmel, Mount, 338 #. 1, 434 

Caspian Sea, 83, 128, 619-23 

Chah-Begi (near Yezd), 386-7, 421 

Chahil-tan (Shiraz), 284 

Chah-i-Murtaza-‘Ali (Shiraz), 313 

“Challenging” (wuwdzt bastan), 463 

Chambers, Mr, 39 

Chamr (near Yezd), 396 

Char Mahall, 221 

Charvadars, character of, 171 

Chekishlar, 622 

Chifté, 598 

Chihrik, 67 

Chilaw, 120 and #. 1, 190 

Chillé (forty days’ retirement), 161 

Christ, 235 and #.1, 332-42, 345, 
357-8, 433-4, 488-9, 501, 503-4, 
534, 538, 568, 573, 579 

Chronograms, 307 and #. 1, 427-8 

Codes of communication, secret, 
426-8 


INDEX 


Couriers (kasids), 257, 387; Babi, 527, 


52 
Cowell Premecon 12 
Curzon, Hon. ‘G. N.; 2 
Custom-house, Turkish, 22, 49 
Russian, 604, 623 
Austrian, 629 
Prussian, 630, 633 
English, 634 
Cyprus, 226 and #. 2, 521, 560. See 
also Subp-i-Exel, Exelis 
Cyrus, Tomb of, 260, 263, 266 


Daxumes (“Towers of Silence’’), 
96-7, 396, 422, 516-17 

Dala’il-i-sab‘a (“Seven Proofs”’), 574 

Dallals, 223-30 

Damascus, 20, 85 

Damghan, 257 

Dancing boys, 120, 320-1 

Darab, 372 

Darcham Bey, 209-10 

Dari dialect, 205-8, 424-5 

Darmesteter, Professor, 206 x. 2 

Daru’l-Fisk (Shiraz so called by 
Ferhad Mirza), 117 

Daru’l-Puntin (University of Tehe- 
ran), 103-4, 107, 112 

Daru’l-‘Ibadat. See Yerd 

Daru’l-‘Ilm. See Shiraz 

Daru’l-Khilafat. See Teheran 

Daru’s-Safa. See Khiy 

Dasht-i-Arjin (“the Plain of the Wild 
Almond?’’), 100 

Datura, 569-70 

Davari (the poet), 130, 292 

Dawshan-tepé (Teheran), 94, 99 

Deli Baba, 43 

Demavend, 89, 611 

Demirji-sayu, 29 

Dervishes, 56-62, 195-8, 312 

De Sacy, 263 

Desatir, 403, 414 4. 1, 422 

Devé-boyun (Erzeroum), 41 

Devey, Mr, 36, mh 

Devil-worshippers (Yezidis), 570 

Dhabih, Haji Mulla Isma‘il, 566 

Dialects. See Dart, Kashdn, Kohrid, 
Sivand, Yexd 


B 


641 


Dightaban, 29 

Dihbid, 256, 258, 371-2, 376-81 

Dih-i-Naw, 260, 263 

Dih-i-Pa’in, 389 

Dil-gusha, Garden of, at Shiraz, 284, 
304, 308-15 

Dilmaghan, 56 

Diogenes, 298 

Diyadin, 32, 48-50, 52 

Dizé-Khalil, 62 

Dogs and jackals, 200-1 

Dreams, interpretation of, 158-9 

Dulab, 484 

Duldul, 202 

Dunbak (a sort of drum), 119, 309 

Dushab (a sort of syrup), 30 


Eipurz Mountains, 83, 89, 94, 100. 
See also Demdvend 

El-chek (thumb-screws), 441 

England, Decline of Oriental Letters 
in, 2-4 

looked up to by Zoroastrians, 417, 

466; by Hindoos, 467 

Entertainments, Persian, 119-22, 
190-201, 297-9, 319-25, 410— 
Il, 520-1, 534-41, 543, 546-9, 
551, 573, 591, 594-5, 602-4 

ErZeroums 20," 22,23 oro ee Oun eae 


35-41 
“ Rsoteric Buddhism,” 156 
Ruropean enterprise in Persia, g9—100 
Ruropeans in Teheran, 93 
Ezel. See Subp-i-Exel 
Ezelis, 7o, 226 #7. 2, 329, 352, 3066 
and #. 1 and 2, 478, 491, 508, 
$20, $34, 542, 545, 540-9, 551-4, 
559-O1, 572, 578, 582, 590, 
397 


Faure, Mr, 602 
“Fairy Hole” (Pari-hél), 25.4 
“Farewell Fountain ” (Isfahan), 221, 
241 
Farhang, Mirza-yi-, the poet, 130, 
292, 308 
Farik Pasha, 44 
Farmdan-farma, 297 and #. 1, 323 
Faslu’l-Khitab, 588 
41 


642 


Fath-‘Ali Shah, 105, 128, 271 #.1, 
297, 299, 311-12, 323 
Ferhad Mirza, 115-18, 257, 

277-8, 290, 299, 301, 316 
Feridun, 188 
Firdawsi, the poet, 278 
Fire-temples, 408-9, 483-4 
Firtiz-Kulah (Mazandaran), 613 
Firtiz Mirza, 317 
Fish, method of catching, 46 
Fleas in Turkish khdns, 27 
Folk-Lore, 73, 180-1, 193, 199-201, 
202, 249, 231-2, 290-1, 421, 422 
France, Oriental studies in, 4 
Purs-i-kadim (“Ancient Persian ’’), 
203. See also Dialects 
Future life, Doctrines of the Philo- 
sophers concerning, 148-56 
Puzuli of Baghdad, the Turkish poet, 
34 


262, 


GALEN (Jd/inus), 60, 107, 108, 378, 
5§I 

Gardanne, General, 105 

Gardens, 95, 284, 303-8. See Bagh 

Gates of Teheran, 94; of Kirman, 
471-2, 482, 490, 491 

Gav-khané marsh, 215 

Gazelles, 210 

Geomancy (‘I/m-i-Raml), 58-62, 158, 
484, 486 

Gezx2rT2 

Ghaznavids, 110, 129 

Ghiils, 180, 194, 221, 290, 422-3 

Gist (long locks worn by dervishes), 


ey 

Glover, Sergeant, 253 

Gobineau, M. le Comte de, 64 2. 1, 
134, 143 #7. 1, 155, 219, 328, 343, 
346, 604 2.1 

Géd-i-Ahmar, 465 

Géd-i-Shirdan (or Sharif-a4bad, near 
Yezd), 388-90 

Gordon, General, 364 

Greetings on the road, 242, 463 

Guebres. See Zoroastrians 

Gulshan-i-Raz (“the Rose-garden of 
Mystery,” a well-known Stfi 
poem), 60; cited 446 


INDEX 


Gunbudh-i-‘Alf (Abarkuh), 382, 385 
Gurgab (near Isfahan), 212 

Gushti (near Dihbid), 381 
Gyumish-Khané, 30, 32, 34 


Hasp-I-NIsHAT (“Pills of gladness ’’), 


57 

Hadi, Haji Mulla, of Sabzawar, the 
philosopher, 143-55, 419, 608 

Hafiz of Shiraz, the poet, 13, 51, 256, 
282, 303, 304, 305-7, 569 #. I 

Haft-dast (palace at Isfahan), 238 

Haft-tan (Shiraz), 284, 312 

Haji-abad, 267-9 

Haji Aké (near Tabriz), 71 

Haji Mirza Aghasi, 67, 127 

Hakim (Abarkuh), 385, 389 

Hamadan, 345 

Hand, amputation of, 117 

Hands, eating with, 53 

Hanishk (near Dihbid), 381-2 

Harunu’r-Rashid, 63 

Hasan-Kal‘a, 40-1 

Hashish (Indian hemp), 569 

Hashtartd, 73 

Hasht Bihisht (Isfahan), 218 

Haunted Tree, 258 

Hawz-i-Sultan, 176 

Hazar-deré (Isfahan), 161, 180, 221 

Hazar-pa (Millipede), 421 

Herbs, virtues of certain, 384, 424 

Himmat, a poet in the reign of 
Nasiru’d-Din Shah, 292 

Hindoos, 465-6, 479, 489 

Hippocrates (Bukrat), 378 n. 2 

Hoeérnle Dry 2r2r21G7 2220s 

Homa (or ham, the sacred plant of 
the Zoroastrians), 430 

Hotels in Asia Minor, 90, 100. See 
also Mihman-khanés 

Huart, M. C., 204 and #. 2, 207 n. 1, 
426 

Humayun, 218 

Huseyn, Aka Seyyid, of Yezd, the 
Bab’s amanuensis, 68 ~ 

Huseyn ‘Ali, Mirza, of Nur. 
Beha’ w’ lah 

Huseyn, Imam, 96, 459, 603. See 
also Imdms 


See 


INDEX 


Huseyn, Sultan, the Safavi, 217 
Husn-i-Ta‘lil (a figure of rhetoric), 
128 


IprAHIM Khan, Haji, 310-11 

Idar (or kbunndb), a fruit, 76 

‘Tfrits, 180, 194, 221, 290. See also 
Folk-Lore, Ghils 

Thtishamu’d-Dawla, Prince, 115, 118, 
249, 262, 316 

[kan (“the Assurance, a Babi evi- 
dential work), 2G. 344, 554,576 
ja (near Erzeroum), 35, 41 

oe d-Dawla, Prince, 397, 402, 
406-7, 418, 490 

Imam-Jum‘a of Isfahan, 232-3; of 
Tabriz, 84 


>> 


Imams, 77, 249, 251, 459, 519-20, 
Go2 

In‘4m (a present given to an inferior), 
753 76, 212 


Indian pronunciation of Persian, 15, 
LOOM THB 1555491 

‘Irdki (the poet), 419, 514, 521 

Irrigation, 382 

Isfahan, 93, 100, 104,141, 211, 219-39 

Isfahanis, character of, 213-14 

Islam, 124, 133 

“{slamo-Christianity,” 1 

Isma‘ilis, 134 

Ismin-abad (Abarkuh), 382 

Istakhr, 374, 386 

izidkhwast (or Yezdikhwast), 243~8 

‘Izz-abad (near Yezd), 598 

‘Izzu’d-Dawla, Prince, 118 


Jacxats and dogs, legend concern- 
ing, 200-1 

Jalalu’d-Dawla, Prince, 111, 115, 280, 

17 

Jalalu’d-Din Rumi, the great mysti- 
cal poet. See Masnavi 

Jam (Drinking- cup), 410 

Jamasp-nama, 484 

Jami, the poet, translation from his 
Yisuf 4 Zuleykhd, 137-9; his 
Lawa@ ih, 418; his Ashi‘atu’/-La- 
maat, 419; chronogram on his 
death, 427 


, 643 

Jani, Haji Mirza, the Babi historian 
and martyr, 66 and z. 1 

Jan-numa, Garden of, 284, 304 

Jask, 488 

Jaukand, 598 

Jem4l, Aka, of Burtjird, a notable 
Babi, 56 5 

Jequirity (chashm-i-khurués, ot ‘aynu 
*d-dik), 107 

Jevizlik (near 
28 

Jewish minstrels and dancing-boys, 
241, 243, 320-1, 323 

Jilvé, Mirza Abt’l-Hasan-i-, 
philosopher and poet, 162 

Jinn (singular jinn?, “ genie”), 159- 
290; ILaskhir-i- (control over 
familiar spirits), 486, 496 

Jiré (journey-money), 169 

Julfa, 212, 215-17, 220-2 

Justi, 204 ”. 2, 205 and #. 1, 426 


Trebizonde), 26, 


the 


KA’ ANT, the poet, 129-30 


_ Ka‘ba-i-Zaratusht, 272 


Kabutar Khan (near Kirman), 468, 
593 

Kadarak, 31 

Kaflan-kth, 77 

“Kajar coffee,” 106, 218 

Kajar dynasty, 94, 108; vandalism of, 
211, 219, 603-4 

Kal‘a-i-Imam-Jum‘a (near Teheran), 
88 

Kal‘a-i-Shur (near Isfahan), 241 

Kal‘at-i-Zard (near Yezd), 392 

Kalandats, 521, ch. xvii, passim 

Kalimat-i-maknina (a Babi book 
composed by Beha’u’llah), 568 

Kalovan (in Mazandaran), 612 

Kamial-abad (in Rafsinjan), 593 

Kamraniyyé (garden near Teheran), 


95 

Kanats Sano aqueducts), 127 
Beat 

on ae R., > “Land of” (Kirman), 


sen hees (an edible plant), 272 
Kara Ayné, 53-4 
Karach (river), 89 

41-2 


644 


Kara-Chiman, 72 

Karaghil (in Mazandaran), 612 

Kara Kilisa, 45 

Karim Khan the Zend, 94, 124, 308, 
310, 314 

Karim Khan, Haji Muhammad, of 
Kirman, head of the Sheykhi 
sect, 351, 09-10, 517-18, 555, 
556, 570, 588, 608 

Kashan, 66, 188-90, 202, 205, 597, 
599; dialect of, 426 

Kashka’is, 109, 124, 210, 289 

Kasids. See Couriers 

Kasr-i-Abt Nasr (near Shiraz), 299, 
301 

Kasr-1-Ya‘kub (near Dihbid), 380 

Kasr-i-Zard (the “Yellow Palace” 
of Bahram Gur), identified with 
Kushk-i-Zard, 379 2. 1 

Katt (a village near Yezd), 392 

Kavit, Dasht-i-, 194-5, 211 

Kawurma (a kind of food), 31 

Kazim, Haji Seyyid, of Resht, 65, 
351, 554 

Kazimeyn, 518 

Kazvin, 525 85-6, 345 

Kehvaré-i-Div (“the Demon’s 
Cradle” at Shiraz), 303, 313 

Kerbela, 65, 242, 274, 459, 483, 5735 
603 

Ker Porter, Sir R., 260-1, 262 

Keshkul (dervish’s alms-gourd), 57 

Ketté (a Mazandarani word for 
“lunch”’), 613 

Khadimu’ll4h (Aka Mirz4 Aka Jan 
of Kashan, Behda’u’ll4h’s a- 
manuensis), 359, 523 

Khal‘at-pushi (near Shiraz), 283 

Khalid-abad (near Kashan), 599 

Khamsé-kyiiy (near Trebizonde), 26, 
28 

Khan-i-Khurré, 25 5 

Khan-i-Kirgan, 256 

Khanlik (near Teheran), 67 

Khatt-i-badi* (the “New Writing” 
of the Babis), 327, 346, 359, 


522 
Khatt-i-murghi (the “ Bird-writing” 
of Mushkin-Kalam), 227 


INDEX 


Khatt-i-satvi, or shajari (“Cypress- 
writing” or “Tree-writing”’), 
428 

Khatt-i-tanzili (the “Revelation- 
writing,” of Khadimu’llah), 359 

Khir, 476 

Khullar, Wine of, 309 

Khunnab (or édar), a fruit, 76 

Khurashé (near Yezd), 394 

Khurram-deré (near Kazvin), 33 

Khurrami (near Dihbid), 377, 380 

Khusrav-abad (near Khuy), 56 

Khuy, 33, 38, 39, 55-61 

Kinar-i-gird, 176 

Kirishkin (near Kazvin), 84 

Kirman, 96, 97, 134, 204, 314, 468— 
74,and chs. xvi and xvii (pp. 475- 
589) passim 

Kirmanshahan (between Yezd and 
Kirman), 462, 596 

Kishlakh (mihmdn-khdané of, neat 
Teheran), 86 

Kitab-i-Akdas, 328, 343, 3.40, 349, 
351, 354, 521, 539, 549. 579, 

Ta ay 


) 

Kitébu'l-Ahkém (Gobineau’s Livre 
des Préceptes), 343 

Kiyanian Kings, 109 

Kizil-Dizé, 49 

Kizil Uzan, 76, 79 

Kohrtid, 204-11, 598 

Kopdagh, 34 

Kuh-i-Bart (Shiraz), 305 

Kuh-i-Sufi (Isfahan), 220-1 

Kulahak (near Teheran), 95, 165, 605 

Kulah-i-Firangi, 317 

Kum, 52, 182-5, 477, 599 

Kumastr, 42 

Kumishah, 242-3 

Kur’4n-i-hafdah mani (“the Kur’4n 
of 17 maunds”’), 284, 303 

Kurds, 44, 47, 48, 113, 365 

Kurratu’l-‘Ayn (the Babi poetess and 
heroine), 111, 352, 541, 543, 
567, 571; her poems, 345, 535, 


574 

Kurtoghlu, the bandit-minstrel, 43; 
name of a flower, 381 

Kushk (near Dihbid), 377, 380 


INDEX 


Kushk-i-Bahram (post-station be- 
tween Teheran and Kum), 179, 
600 

Kushk-i-Zard, 380 #. 1 

Kushkuh, 465, 586 

Kushti (girdle of Zoroastrians), 404, 
516 

Kyipri-bashi, 28 


LANGAR (neat Kirman), 510, 587-8 

Languages, how to learn, 6 

Lawash (a kind of bread), 33 

Lawh-i-Nasir (one of Beha’u’llah’s 
epistles), 574 

Leopard, 100 

Lion, 100 

Lokman, 57 

Longworth, Mr, 25 

Lurs, 204, 210 

Lutf ‘Ali Khan, the Zend, 310 

Lynch, Mr, 430 

Lyne, Mr, 184 


Manrasas (colleges), 104, 217-18 

Magic, 159-62, 496-9, 501-2. See 
also Occult Sciences 

Mahalu, Lake (near Shiraz), 284 

Mahan (Shah Ni‘matu’llah’s shrine, 
near Kirman), 581-2, 585, 586 

Mahdi, Imam, 66, 237, 510 

Mahmid Shabistari, Sheykh, 60, 446 

Majlis-i-Sihhat (Medical Council at 
Teheran), 107 

Maksud Beg, 243 

Maku, 67 

Mala (Miyané bug), 72-3, 76-7, 
18 

Malaku’l-Mawt Deré (“ Valley of the 
Angel of Death’’), 180 

Malcolm, Sir John, 105, 276 

Manakji Sahib, late Zoroastrian 
Agent at Teheran, 190-4, 344 
and #. 1, 432, 478, 516 

Mandal (Magical Circle), 161 

Manes, 133 

Manijak, 113 

Mansur-i-Hallaj (the Sufi), 156, 355, 


438 
Marg (near Isfahan), 241 


645 


“Martyrs of Isfahan,” 110, 230-34, 
347, 360, 365, 566 

Marv-Dasht (near Persepolis), 265, 
272, 276, 279, 373 

Mashhad-i-Sar (Mazandaran), 6o1, 
616, 617, 619-21 

Mashrikeyn (near Shiraz), 303 

Masjid-Bardi, 284, 305, 347 

Masjid-i-Kabtid. See Blue Mosque 

Masjid-i-Madar-i-Suleyman (Pasar- 
gadae), 259-6o 

Masjid-i-Shah (Teheran), 106, 605 

Masjid-i-Sipahsalar (Teheran), 105-6 

Masnavi, 14, 17, 300, 343, 355, 410, 
438, 521, 537, 547, 549 

Mast-Khiyar (curds and cucumbers), 
190-4 

Mayar (near Isfahan), 241-2 

Mazandaran, 67, 611-19 

Mazdak, 133, 539 

Mazta‘-i-Sabz (near Dihbid), 380 

Medicine, difficulties attending the 
practice of, in Persia, 60, 375-6, 
378-9332 96 2 ee 

Medicine, progress of, in Teheran, 
107, 108 

Menagerie at Dawshan-tepé, 100 

Meybut (near Yezd), 598 

Midhat Pasha, 24 

Mihman-khanés (guest-houses), 86-8, 
177-8, 238 

Mihr-abad, 382 

Milan, 67 

Mintchihr Khan, 66, 219 

Miracles, 146-7, 250-1, 313; how 
regarded by Babis, 332-4, 337-8, 
401-2 

Mir Damad, 141-2 

Miyan (near Tabriz), 63 

Miyané, 71, 72, 76-8 

Miyané bug. See Ma/a 

Mosques, 105-6 

Mosul, 523, 570 

Mubaraké (near Yezd), 396 

Mughar (near Kashan), 599 

Muhammad (the Prophet), 332-6, 
341, 434, 440, 443, 493, 534, 


1G 
Muhammad-abad (near Yezd), 597 


646 


Muhammad ‘Alf, Aka, of Tabriz, the 
Babi martyr, 69-70 

Muhammad Ja‘far, of Tabriz, 363, 
365-6 

Muhammad Riza, the Bab’s father, 64 

Muhammad Shah, 67, 127, 219 

Mubhsin-i-Feyz, Mulla, 142 

Mullas, ignorance and dishonesty of, 
506— 

Mursehk bet Efendi, 47 

Miurchékhar, 210 

Murghab, 259, 375 

Musalla (Shiraz), 284, 307 

Mushiru’d-Dawla, 106 

Mushkin-Kalam, 226-9, 366 #7. 1, 560 

Music, 119, 121, 308. See also Enter- 
tainments, Persian 

Mysticism, 133-40. See also S#fés, 
Sufiism 


Nasit (the Babi poet), 548, 574, 595 

Nadir Shah, 218 

N@ibu’s-Saltana, Prince, 95, 112,113, 
166 

Na‘im (the Babi poet), 567 

N@in, 598 

Najaf-a4bad (near Isfahan), 110, 212, 
221,75.22: 

Naksh-i-Rajab, 265, 279 

Naksh-i-Rustam, 265, 270, 272-3, 
275-6 

Namakdan (Isfahan), 238 

Nan-i-sangak (“Pebble-bread”’), 119 
and . 1 

Napoleon, downfall of, foretold by 
Beha’u’llah, 348-9 

Nasitr-i-Khusraw (the poet), 524-5, 
608 

Nasiru’d-Dawla, Prince-Governor of 


Kirman, 455, 457, 458, 478, 492, 
519, $52, 572 

Nasituw’d-Din Shah, character of, 
98-9, 108-15, 211, 559 

Nasnas (a kind of hobgoblin), 180, 
291 

Nasr ifn Seyyar, 415 

Natanz, 202 

Naw-Gunbudh, 598 

Nawruz (Persian New Yeat’s Day), 


INDEX 


236, 244, 252, 280, 351, 412, 
482 

Nawwab Mirza Hasan ‘Ali Khan, 92, 
286 

Nawwab Mirza Haydar ‘Ali Khan, 
283, 2 8 sb oe, 


Nejef, 65, 274, 518 
Neyistanak, 598 
Nigaristan (palace in Teheran), 105, 


542 
Nikh-Beg, 79 
Ni‘matu’llah, Shah, 581, 583, 586 
Nitiz, 67, 317, 372) 441, 476, 487 
Nisab, 115-16 | 
Nizami (the poet), 445 
Nusratu’d-Dawla, Prince, 563 


‘OsEYD-1-ZAKANI (the poet and sa- 
tirist), 126-7, 131, 551 

Occult sciences, 158-62. See also 
Magic, Geomancy, Astrology, and 
Jinn 

‘Omar, detested by Persians, 23 and 
24 4. 1, 194, 196, 491, 570 

Ophthalmia, how to treat, 533 

Opium, cultivation of, 213, 382; 
smoking of, 476-7, 533-4, 544- 
5» 549, 5727-5, 577-8, 5955 se 

‘Othman, detested by Persians, 24 
n. 1, 491 

Owl, 193-4 


Pacett, Dr Edward, 220 

Pahlavi, 269, 271, 279, 409; manu- 
Scripts, 429 

Pa-lis (“foot-licker,”’ a kind of hob- 
goblin), 180-1 

Palmer, Professor, 12 

Papaq (kind of cap), 47, 54 

Parasang (farsang, farsakh), 71 n. 1 

Pariz, 465 

Parsees, 314-16, 374-5. 
astrians 

Pasangan (near Kashan), 186, 599 

Pasargadae, 259, 263, 266 

Pasha Khan, 39, 52-4 

Pasha-punari, 34, 37 

Passports) 235) 245.225; 
626-9 


See Zoro- 


46, 58:G225 


INDEX 


“Peacock angel” (Malakw’t-Ta’us), 


570 

Pelly, Sir Lewis, 604 #. 1 

Persepolis, 265, 275-8, 374 

Persian consuls, 25, 38-9 

Persian national character, 25, 109-10 

Petmez (a kind of syrup), 30 

Philosophy, 123, 140-62; preliminary 
training for, 147 

Physiognomy, 502 

Pik (post-station between Teheran 
and Kum), 179, 600 

Pilaw, 120 and #. 1, 190 

Pilgrimage, ceremonies of the, 293 

Piré (a suburb of Khiy), 55 

Pir-i-Jemal (a poet of Ardistan), 599 

Pish-kesh, 74, 212 

Poetry, 125-30. See also under the 
names of the different poets 

Polak, Dr, 108, 111 and #. 1, 204 and 
h. I, 205 

Practical joking, 131-2 

Prawns (meyg#), 298 

“Presents” in Persia, 73-5, 83 

Prevost’s Hotel (Teheran), 90, 91, 
100, 600 

Printing in Persia, 314, 602 

Psychic organs, 157 

Public school system of teaching, its 
defects, 5-8 

Pul-i-chekmé va shalwar (“boots and 
breeches money”), 169 

Pul-i-Dallak (“the Barber’s Bridge,” 
neat Kum), 176-7 

Pul-i-Hasan-abad (Isfahan), 215 

Pul-i-Khaju (Isfahan), 238 

Pul-i-Martn (Isfahan), 215 

Pul-i-Si u sih chashmé (Isfahan), 215 

Pulvar (river), 260, 265, 267, 276 

Puzé (“the Snout, > near Persepolis), 


265, 2795 374 


Querry’s Droit Musulman, 505 n. I 


RAFSINJAN, 465, 593 
Rahmat-abad (near Kum), 599 
Railways in Persia, 98—9 
Ramazan, 124, 333, 420 

Raml, Rammal. See Geomancy 


647 


Rashk-i-Bihisht (garden at Shiraz), 
305, 322, 370, 372 

Rawghan-i-hashish, 569 

Rawha, the Babi poetess, 574 

Redhouse, Sir James, 11 

René (Mazandaran), 611 

Resht, 20, 86, 6o1 

Re 

Rees 98, 271 4.1 

Ribat-Karim, 179, 600 

Riza Khan, 262 

Riz4-Kuli Khan, La/d-bashi (the poet 
and writer), 104 

Rock-tombs. See Naksh-i-Rustam, 
Persepolis 

Rodolfe, 220 

“Rue de Gaz” (Teheran), 101, 104 

Ruknabad, he of (Shiraz), We. 
253, 282, 30 

Rukn-i-rabi‘ (“ Fourth Support” ie? 
the Sheykhis), 520 

Ruknu’l-Mulk (one of the Shah’s 
SONS), 113 

Ruknu’l-Mulk (deputy-governor of 
Isfahan), 219 

Russians, 128, 389-400, 604, 621-9 

Ruz-bihan, Sheykh, his tomb at 
Shiraz, 299 


SA‘DI (the poet), 51, 123, 125-6, 284, 
285, 303-4, 307-8, 416, 507, 547 

Sad-pa (centipede), 421 

Sadra, Mull4, the philosopher, 141-2, 


155 
Safavi dynasty, 72, 79, 94, 141, 187, 
202, 2II, 215, 218-20, 246, 561 
Safi, Shah, 79 
Sahib-Divan, 249, 262, 304, 309-12, 


316, 365 

Sala4rw’l-Mulk (one of the Shah’s 
sons), 113 

Salmas, 56 

Sanctuary. See Bast 

Sang-bur, 265 

Sarcham, 78 

Sari, 612, 617 

Sarimu’d-Dawla, 218 

Sat-i-Yezd, 597 

Sasanians, 96, 133, 269, 271, 485 


648 


Schindler, General A. Houtum-, 203, 
204 N. 1, 205 

Scorpions, 189, 420-1 

Sea-gulls (wurgh-i-nawruz/), 280 

Selim I, 218 

Seljuks, 110 

Semnan, 195 

Seven Proofs (Dald’il-i-sab‘a), 574 

Seyvan, 38 

Seyyid Taju’d-Din (near Khuy), 62 

Shah. See Nésiru’d-Din 

Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim, shrine of, 89, 
98, 102, 172, 174, 176 

Shah Chiragh (at Shiraz), 294, 314 

Shah Kannab (near Yezdikhwast), 


24 
Shah Ni‘matu’lléh, 581, 583, 586 
Shahr-i-Babak, 480 
Shah-sevans, 187 
Shaking minaret (Mindré-i-junbdn, at 

Isfahan), 222 
Shams-abad (near Abarkuh), 386 
Shams-i-Tabriz, the Sufi, 443; verse 

from the Divan of, quoted, 112 
Shapur, 269, 279 
Sharaz (near Abarkuh), 382, 386 
Sharif-abad (or G6d-i-Shirdan), 388 
Shash-gird (near Kum), 179, 182 
Shawl manufactory, 482-3 
Shawwaz, 393 
Sheep, sacrifice of, 87 
Shemsh, 462, 596 
Sheykhis, 133, 504, 509, S1O-I1, 517, 

519-20, 554, s80, 581, 587-9 
Sheykh Madhkur, 118, 290 
Sheykh Tabarsi (Mazandaran), 325, 

612, 614-18 
Shihabu’d-Din, Sheykh, Suhravardi, 


156 

Shikari (kind of cap), 54 

Shimr, 570, 603 

Shimran, 95 

Shiraz, 64-6, 95, 100, 114, 115, I117- 
20, 123, 130, 252, 266-7, 281 e¢ 


Seq. 
Shir-kuh (mountain near Yezd), 392, 
393, 419 
Shulghistan, 243, 248 
Shurab, 187 


INDEX 


Sigha (temporary wife), 505-6 

Sih-dih, 110 

Sinnett, Mr A. P., 156 

Sinsin (near Kashan), 187, 599 

Sipahsalar, 106 

Sirjan, 465, 476, 487, 499 

Sitar (musical instrument), 119, 124, 
201, 289, 308 

Sivand, 204, 267 

Snake-charmers, 62 

Soh, 209-10, 254 

Solomon, 259-61, 264, 266 

Spargha (tortoise), 79 

Sphinx (rock near Isfahan), 221 


- Subh-i-Ezel (Mirza Yahya), 70, 226 


fh. 2, 329, 352, 366 and mm. 1 and 
DSi 20 8500 

Sufis, Sufiism, 16, 56, 134-40 

Suleyman Khan, the Babi, 70, 111, 
352, 574 

Sultan-abad, persecution of Babis at, 
562-4 

Sultaniyyé, 72, 81-3 

Suma, 72-3 

Sunij (near Yezd), 390, 392 

Sunnites and Shi‘ites, 23-4, 106, 124, 
134, 307 

“Supreme Beauty.” See Behd’u’ ah 

Surkh Hisar (near Teheran), 610 

Surmé, 254 

Sursurak (“the slide”), 105 (at 
Teheran); 309-10 (at Shiraz) 

Surtri Efendi, 24 

Susmar, 421 

Syrian Christians of Urumiyyé, 57 


TA‘ARUF, 74 

Tabar (axe carried by dervishes), 56 
Tabarsi. See Sheykb Tabarsi 

Tabriz, 22, 62-3, 68-70, 84, 457, 


557 
Taft (near Yezd), 384, 393, 394-5 
Tahmasp, Shah, 218 
Taj (felt cap worn by dervishes), 57 
Tajrish (near Teheran), 95 
Takht-i-Fulad (cemetery at Isfahan), 
221, 231-2 
Takht-i-Jamshid. See Persepolis 
Takht-i-Nizam (Shiraz), 303 


INDEX 


Takht-i-Rustam (mountain near Isfa- 
han), 221 
Takht-i- -Suleyman, 259-62 
Takht-i-Ta’us, 276 
Taki Khén, Mirza, Amir-i-Kabir, 
68 
Tang-i-Allahu Akbar (Shiraz), 252, 
283-4, 303, 313, 317, 373 
Tarantula (khdyé-gaz, ot roteyl), 388, 
420-1, 452 
Tarikh-i-Jadid (“New History” of 
Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad the Bab), 
344-6, 478, 565 
Tashli-Chay, 46-7 
Tasuch (by Lake Urumiyyé), 62 
Taxation, 42, 387 
Ta‘ziyas (Miracle-plays of Muhar- 
tam), 77> 84, Go1—5, 615 
Tea-houses, 89, 600 
Teheran (more correctly, T7hran), 90, 
108, 600-9 
Tekkes3i 
Tekyé (Theatre for Miracle-plays), 
6o2 
Telegraph, 101, 104, 112, 183- 
Tholozan, Dr, 107 
Thomson, Sir Taylor, 116-17 
Tiflis, 624 
Tiger, 100 
Tikmé-tash, 72 
Tir-mar (earwig), 421 
Toghrul, tower of, 98 
Mottence Ura Ll 5 
Tortures, 111-12, 117-18. See also 
Babis, persecutions of 
Towers of silence. See Dakhmeés 
Tradition, Shi‘ite, works on, 487, 
501, 608 
Transmigration of souls, 413-14 
Trebizonde, 20-6 
Turkish, study of, 9-13 
amenities, 21 
lack of curiosity, 28 
of Adharbayj4n and Persia, 51-2, 
61, 84-96 
rule in Persia, 108-10 
stupidity, Fable illustrating, 558 
Turkmans (Turcomans), 107, 399- 
400, 621-2 


649 


Ucn Kitts, 47 

University. See Ddaru’l-Funiin 
Urchini Pass (near Isfahan), 242 
Urumiyyé, 55, 57, 62, 67 
Uzbegs, 218 

Uziin-Ada, 622-3 


VaLt-‘AHD (Crown Prince), 63, 114 

“Valley of the Angel of Death,” 
180 

Vambéry, 78, 176, 282, 296 

Varamin, 98 

Varzahan, 32 

Vaughan, Lieut., 400, 417 

Vendidad, manuscript of, 413. 
also Zend manuscripts 


See 


Watson’s Héstory of the Kdjar dynasty, 
81 

Wells, Major, 112, 183 

Whipple, Mr, 63, 79 

Whittingback, Mr, 267 

Will-o’-the-Wisps, 464 

Wills, Dr, 71 4.1, 179 4.1 

Wine-drinking amongst Musulmdans 
and Zoroastrians, 410-11. See 
also Entertainments, Persian 

Wisdl, the poet, 130, re 

Wolseley Valise; 2002728 

Wood-louse (kbar-i- bike, kharak-t- 
khudd’t), 244 

Wright, Dr William, 2, 3, 17 


YauyA KHAN, Governor of Chihrik, 


7 

Yahya, Mirza. See Subp-i-Exel 

Yangi-dunya (America), 188, 237 

Yeni-Khan, 35 

i CZ0,.07 sO0 RO 7 lOO MEI I yell 49013 4. 
189, 190, 204, 314, 372, 380, 382, 
396, and chs. xiii and xiv passim 

Yezdani (the poet), 130, 292 

Yezdi accent, 187, 200, 392, 393 

‘type of countenance, 392 

Yezdigird III, 96 

Yezdikhwast (ot Izidkhwst), 243-9 

Yezid ibn Mu‘aviya, the onan 
caliph, 85, 604 

Yezidis, 570 


650 


Yoghurt, 33 
Yusuf i Zuleykha of Jami quoted, 
137-9 


ZAHHAK, 89, 611 
Zakouski, 621 
Zangavat, 270, 272-3, 279 
Zanjan, 67, 71, 79-81, 325 
Zargan (Zargun), 280-2, 373-4 
Zayanda-Rud (Zindé-Rud), 212, 215, 
221722545238 
Zend dynasty, 94, 124, 310. See also 
Karim Khan the Zend 
language (so-called), 408-9 
manuscripts, 428-30, 483 
Zeyn-abad (near Yezd), 396 
Zeynu’d-Din, 461, 596 
Zeynuw |-Mukarrabin, the Babi scribe, 
$22,527 


INDEX 


Zeyti-Kyan, 49 

Ziegler, Messrs, 231 

Zighana-dagh, 26, 28 

Zillu’s-Sultan, Prince, 111, 114-15, 
219, 233, 238, 243, 249, 280, 

387, 495, 566 

Zindé-Rud (Isfahan). See Zdyanda- 

Rud 


Zotawa, §5 
Zoroastet, 96-7, 134, 333-4, 358, 


409, 543 y 
Zoroasttianism, converts to, 417; its 


relation to Babiism, 431-3 

Zoroasttians (guebres), 96-8, 189, 
204, 314-16, 344 4.1, 372, 
394-5, 397-8, 403-18, 465, 469, 
471-4, 478-86, 489-91, 499-500, 
506, 510, 530, 542-3, 550, 581-2, 
587 





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